Jewel In the North

by Tricia Stringer

  “Which neighbour?” They really only had two neighbours and the Marchants were already married.

  “William Baker of course.”

  Georgina tried to conceal her intake of breath and the sharp pain that stabbed at her heart. “How … who?”

  “I knew your father was right to keep you away from that man. He’s taken a woman like his father’s.” Johanna’s eyes narrowed. “A native.”

  “I don’t believe it.”

  “The apple never falls far from the tree.”

  “I don’t mean that William has a native wife. I don’t believe he has a wife at all.” She reached out her hand. “You must have misunderstood. Perhaps she’s a housekeeper. Let me read it.”

  Johanna clutched the letter tightly. “It is private, and your father’s words are quite clear.” Her gaze pinned Georgina. “You’ve been pining after that man for too long, Georgina. It’s time you forgot him and looked for a more suitable attachment.”

  Georgina felt her arms sag and a loud rushing in her ears drowned out the sound of her mother’s nagging voice. William wouldn’t have married someone else. He was going to marry her. She had known they would marry since she was a little girl. They were meant for each other. Her parents had done their best to give her a social life beyond the isolation of Prosser’s Run — her years at school in Adelaide had provided her with more opportunity and she had met several men on this trip too. She’d even been kissed by one of the more forward Englishmen she’d met on her last visit to London. None of them matched William’s rugged strength, his wide smile and the feel of his arms around her, his warm lips on hers. She shivered. She was sure he’d felt as smitten as she had. He couldn’t have forgotten her so easily.

  “Your father wants you to find a husband who will care for you and be able to take on the responsibility of Prosser’s Run. And he wants grandchildren even if they won’t bear his name. Grandsons to continue the traditions he began at Prosser’s Run.”

  Georgina snapped from her contemplation. She did not need a man to care for her. William would have been her life partner but she would not have been his property. “Why is it that marrying and providing children are the only things I am good for? I can manage Prosser’s Run on my own, Mother. I can employ people to help me. A husband and children would only be a hindrance.”

  “Don’t be silly, Georgina. I know your father has indulged you but it is not fitting for you to take on all that managing a property entails on your own. I wouldn’t hear of it.” Johanna’s lips pursed together. She lifted her chin. “A visit to London will do you the world of good.”

  Georgina had long ago learned the best way to get around her parents was to appear to do as they wished while quietly working things her way. “Perhaps London will produce such a man.”

  Johanna clapped her hands together, completely missing the sarcasm in her daughter’s tone. “I will contact my friend Mary again. It will be short notice but she may be able to plan a little soiree. We could meet some new people and maybe that nice Mr Durham will be there.” Johanna paused and Georgina noticed a glow in her mother’s cheeks that couldn’t be attributed to the small fire.

  Durham had danced with Georgina several times, and had declared himself enchanted by her and her life in Australia. On their last evening together he had kissed her. Georgina shuddered at the memory of his soft moist lips.

  Her mother reached out to her. “I know it’s a little dreary here but please allow me this extra time. Prosser’s Run is our home and once we go back there will be no more trips away for me.”

  Georgina swallowed her despair at the news of William’s marriage. It was not her mother’s fault and she was right. It was unlikely either of them would get this opportunity again. Mr Durham was a fine dancer and, as long as he didn’t try to kiss her again, he was good company. “Very well, Mother.”

  Johanna stood and edged around her chair to the door. “I shall make the arrangements now.” She smiled at her daughter. “We will have a most enjoyable time and then we can bring some trimmings back to brighten Uncle Winston and Aunt Anne’s Christmas.”

  Georgina tried not to show her despondency at the thought of Christmas in this glum little cottage.

  “They have no children of their own.” Johanna tucked the letter into the pocket of her thick plaid skirt and smoothed the fabric with her palms. “I am their only niece. I feel I should do my best for them. I shall probably never see them again.”

  “Of course.” Georgina stood, her annoyance eased by empathy for her mother. Johanna was an only child and both her parents had died not long after she married. It was her inheritance that had helped Georgina’s father begin his pastoral life, which led them to Prosser’s Run. “Do you ever wish your money had been invested in another life, Mother?”

  Johanna had manoeuvred around the door and looked back in surprise. “Good heavens no, Georgina. When I married your father my money became his. He has not been wasteful and he’s made us a good life. We are enjoying this holiday because of it. You are being perverse today. Why would I want another life?”

  The door shut and Georgina was left alone in the small space. Her father had intimated she would eventually inherit Prosser’s Run. Once that time came there was no way she would let a man tell her how to manage it or any money that was hers. She closed her eyes and imagined William’s handsome face as she had done every day since she left home. A wave of despair washed over her and she sank into the chair. He’d said he would wait for her. She had imagined them working side by side, building a future together. She had been gone a long time. He had obviously forgotten her.

  She gripped the padded arms of the chair. She would not give in to despair. She was strong and fit and quite capable of stepping up to manage Prosser’s Run when her father was no longer able. She would show him and William Baker she was her own woman and had no need of a man to support her.

  Nine

  December 1897

  “Young Baker is taking after his father.” The chair beneath Ellis Prosser creaked in protest as he moved.

  Henry took a puff of his cigar and contemplated his guest. Ellis had been a regular visitor since his wife and daughter had been away. Thankfully a guest bedroom had been added to the back of the house beyond the bathroom.

  The strong smell of tobacco curled around Henry as he blew out. He watched with satisfaction as a ring of smoke floated across the living room. They had eaten a delightful meal prepared by Mrs Nixon. Catherine had retired early, as she often did these days, and Charles was away from home, so it was just their overnight guest and Henry who sat in their good front room. It had been an extremely hot day but there was a gentle breeze coming through the front windows now the sun was down. “In what way?”

  “He’s taken a native woman as his wife. My man Swan saw them going in to the church.”

  Henry raised his eyebrows. “Not necessarily to marry.”

  “She was on his arm clutching flowers and he in his best suit. Swan says she’s living at Smith’s Ridge.”

  “How appalling. That family are not fit to be with decent people.” Henry shook his head. “You were right to send your daughter overseas, Ellis. Georgina is better off away from the Bakers for a while. She is such a fine young woman.”

  “But headstrong. She was quite smitten with young Baker.” Like Henry, Ellis blew out a ring of smoke.

  “How terrible if she had become his wife.”

  “Over my dead body.” Ellis lurched forward in his chair. “That was never going to happen. I’d rather send her to a nunnery.”

  Henry raised his eyebrows but said nothing. Ellis was wont to make explosive comments that were sometimes unrealistic. But he did understand his despair at the thought of his daughter marrying William Baker.

  “Joseph Baker has disgraced his whole family by marrying that native and now they have three half-caste brats. Although I do wonder how they will fare with the appointment of the new Protector of Aborigines.”

  Hen
ry sat up. Ellis was on a return journey from Adelaide, where he had gleaned all kinds of information about the affairs of South Australia that had not yet filtered through to Hawker. Henry was keen to learn what he could. “What difference will a new protector make?”

  “He might do more about these natives, especially those with mixed blood. I’ve never been one to tolerate any of them but we are stuck with them. If they are to live among us the only way is to teach them our ways.”

  “As much as I hate to admit it Millie Baker appears to be a quick learner.”

  Ellis gave a snort. “Baker has made a bit of a go of it with his wife. She wears proper clothes and I’m told she cooks inside and good English food to boot. He’s built her a fancy house — but she’ll always be a native and thus so will her children.”

  “Nothing can change that.”

  “Well, the talk in Adelaide is of removing half-caste children and sending them to live with white families.”

  “Surely they’d run away or their parents would find them?”

  “No, they would be taken away and no information would be given about where they’d be sent. They’d be raised at a mission or by white families so that they forgot their wild roots.”

  “Really?” Henry sat back and pondered that.

  “Anyway, I have little care for what happens to the Bakers as long as it doesn’t involve my daughter.”

  “Very sensible, Ellis. Nothing good can come of mixing black skin with white or of mixing with the Bakers.” Henry nodded sagely. “Have you heard from your wife lately? How is their trip going?”

  “The last time I heard from Johanna they had just returned to England after touring France and Italy. My wife has ageing relatives in England and they have no children. She would like to spend Christmas with them and perhaps tour a little more before returning to Australia.”

  “No doubt they are making the most of such a big journey.” Henry sank deeper into his chair. “I hope the same for Charles although of course he is not travelling so far. He’s had a successful year at school in Adelaide. Accompanying my mother on her trip to Melbourne and Sydney will expand his knowledge of her business and ours and, I hope, open his eyes to new possibilities before he returns to us.”

  “I am sure he will learn a lot from your mother. How is she faring?”

  “I am glad she took Charles as her companion. Her eyesight is failing.”

  “Such a shame. Her business must depend upon on it surely?”

  Henry sighed. Harriet was being very stubborn and insisting he should sell up and take over her business in Adelaide. She had trained several talented seamstresses and women to manage the shop and wanted him to create a menswear shop next door. Henry had other ideas. If he could get his hands on her money, there was so much more he could do in Hawker. “My mother cannot continue to run her business as she has for much longer. She has taken Charles under her wing, and he is helping her with buying for her shop and ours, but he cannot stay in Adelaide.” Once more Henry blew out a perfect ring of smoke. “Our business is expanding and I need him here.”

  “You are very optimistic. We’ve had little rain for over a year now. Some think we are going to have another drought.”

  “There are always the worry-mongers.”

  “They might be right this time.”

  “I have made sure my business will not suffer.”

  “You are wise. There are those who don’t pay heed to the warning signs.”

  Henry studied his friend. Ellis had aged visibly during his wife’s absence. He had always been a big man but now his stomach was hanging over his belt and his trademark brown leather vest was open, revealing straining shirt buttons. His once fiery red hair was a faded sandy colour and his cheeks were often florid. So different to Henry, who prided himself on his own appearance. He flicked his gaze down over his silver vest and the grey shirt tucked neatly into his dark trousers. He rarely over-ate and did not over-indulge in liquor as Ellis did. Still, Ellis was a powerful man and a good ally. His sayso had helped Henry onto several committees over the years. The local council position had not worked out — that he had lost his seat after barely a year in office still rankled — but there were other groups who had been pleased to have a man of his standing involved.

  “I am sure you’re right, Ellis. My neighbour Mr Garrat is not particular with the credit he extends.” Henry frowned; he was far more discerning, and he certainly didn’t allow natives, or any foreigners for that matter, in his shop. “Did I tell you I have recently acquired another farm near Wilson?”

  “Won’t do you much good if it doesn’t rain.”

  Once more Henry puffed on his cigar. “I can wait until things improve.” He’d got the land in exchange for a debt. It mattered little to Henry when it rained next but once it did he was not fool enough to try to crop the country. Cropping was a fickle business, as those he’d preyed on discovered. Once the seasons improved he would stock his land with sheep as he’d done in the past. That was where the money was.

  “You said Charles was buying for your shop?”

  “Yes, we are expanding our clothing department.”

  “When do you expect him to return to Hawker?”

  “Quite soon. The last telegraph I had from him reported they were about to leave for Adelaide. Mother was worn out from the travel. He may stay a few days to see her settled before he returns home.”

  “You will have to let me know when the new clothing arrives.” Ellis brushed at his shirt. Henry noticed some dark stains from the red wine they’d been drinking. “I suspect I shall need to buy something new before Johanna returns or she will think I can’t manage in her absence.”

  “You know we always look after your needs, Ellis.” Henry smiled and Ellis returned the gesture with a quick nod.

  Charles closed the door to the house quietly behind him. His grandmother was resting again. The journey to Sydney and Melbourne and back had taken much out of her even though they had travelled between cities via ship.

  The whirring of machines didn’t falter as he passed the three seamstresses bent over their work, but pretty Miss Wharton, who was around his age, lifted her gaze from the cutting table and gave him a smile to which he responded with a wink — he enjoyed the blush that crept over her cheeks. Charles stepped lightly into the shop beyond the workroom. He enjoyed being there in his grandmother’s business, partly because he felt it was much better run than his father’s business at Hawker, but also because the place was full of women, all of whom were charmed by his careful manners and ready smile. He had lived with his grandmother for a year while he completed his studies and he knew her business and her staff well.

  The shop was busy with customers. All three assistants were in attendance. Miss Wicksteed, his grandmother’s shop manager, gave him a smile and slight inclination of her neatly coiffed head before turning her attention back to one assistant in particular. The young woman had only started in the shop as Charles and Harriet left on their trip and he hadn’t had a chance to be introduced.

  He moved across the light and airy room to the large window his grandmother had installed by the front door. In front of it was the new mannequin she’d bought in Sydney, already swathed in soft georgette in a palette of colours. No wonder Harriet was tired. She must have worked on the display late into the night after Charles retired. He stood back to admire his grandmother’s handiwork. Her eyesight may have been failing but she had an innate flair for colour and style. This display cleverly demonstrated the soft flow of the fabric and the variety of colours available.

  There was a clatter behind him. He turned to see the red-faced new assistant holding an empty box. The contents, some large pearl buttons, were now scattered over the counter. Miss Wicksteed drew the customer aside to finish her inspection of some bolts of lace, leaving the assistant to tidy up after her clumsiness. Charles stepped over to the counter and picked up one button that had fallen to the polished wooden floor on his side.

  “Th
ank you, sir,” the assistant murmured.

  Charles looked up into the hazel eyes that studied him. The young woman was his age or older, neat in appearance and, while not displaying the usual softer beauty of most of his grandmother’s shop employees, she had strong bone structure. Her hair, pulled back as it was from her head in a neat bun, made her look more angular. He held her gaze and she didn’t look away as the other young ladies would have. The red flush of her cheeks was fading and he got the impression it had come from annoyance rather than embarrassment.

  “Good morning,” Charles said. “I am Charles Wiltshire, your employer’s grandson.”

  “Yes.” She gave a short bob of her head. “I know who you are, sir.”

  “And your name is?”

  “Edith Ferguson, sir.”

  “Excuse me, Master Charles.” Miss Wicksteed faltered as Charles turned a steely look in her direction.

  “I beg your pardon, sir, Mr Charles.” Miss Wicksteed corrected herself. “I need to speak with Miss Ferguson in the fitting room.”

  The shop door opened at that moment, admitting the telegraph boy. He glanced around the room and, seeing Charles was the only male occupant, stepped up to him.

  “I have a telegraph for a Mr Charles Wiltshire.”

  “That’s me.” Charles took the paper from the lad, who let himself out again.

  Miss Ferguson gave him a smile. He studied her again. It wasn’t the shy look the other young shop women gave him: she had a gleam in her eye.

  “Come along, Miss Ferguson.” Miss Wicksteed ushered the young woman away, and Charles watched as both women disappeared through the door into the back rooms behind the shop.

  The telegram was from his father. Business was brisk. Mr Hemming wanted urgent leave and Charles was needed at home. He re-read the paper then folded it into his pocket and let himself out into the warm Adelaide day. O’Connell Street was bustling with activity. Too late he thought of his hat but he didn’t intend to be long. It was mid-December, dry and dusty. Hawker would be hotter on his return, he knew. Not that he minded the heat; it was his future he wished to contemplate before he joined his grandmother over breakfast. Normally she would be up by now but he suspected her late night had tired her. She had been looking forward to the comfort of her own bed on their return from their travels the day before.