Edith looked at the rigid form of her employer, and then at the woman who appeared to have taken charge.
“Very well,” she said. “Let me know if I can do anything else.” She moved to the door.
“There will be a mess to clean up tomorrow.”
Edith turned back.
“You will need to be at the shop early to clear up after the storm has blown itself out.”
Edith straightened. It was hardly the housekeeper’s place to give her instructions regarding her work at the shop.
“Yes, thank you, Edith.” Mr Wiltshire lurched to his feet. “The shop may have to remain closed but there will be much to do.”
“Very well, Mr Wiltshire.” She bobbed her head. “Once more my sincere condolences on your loss. If there’s anything else—”
“We will let you know.” Flora’s words and her glare cut Edith off.
As she let herself out into the courtyard Edith thought she heard a gentle murmur from Flora to Henry, but the dust and the noise of the wind assaulted her and her only concern became getting home safely.
Seventeen
Charles stood on the edge of one of the several large shades erected beside the church where his mother’s funeral had been conducted. Thankfully there had been a gentle breeze during the morning and the shade had provided some protection from the sun. He tugged at the starched collar of his new shirt and felt the weight of the black jacket on his shoulders. His father had insisted they wear the dark wool fabric though it was more suited to the chill of winter. All around him the ladies and gentleman of Hawker and even some less salubrious residents were dressed in similar black or dark shades. It was a very large gathering.
Georgina walked among them, offering a plate of sandwiches to some ladies. He was grateful to her and to her mother for acting as hostesses. His father had assumed Flora Nixon would take charge but Charles had explained that was not seemly. Flora had been put in charge of catering of course and Edith was there to help. Along with Mr Hemming’s wife they had made sure there were plenty of refreshments for the mourners.
Charles glanced through a gap in the crowd. His father was seated between Mrs Prosser and the doctor’s wife, and Mr and Mrs Taylor stood close by. Henry appeared to be joining in the conversation. Charles had helped his father with many things since Catherine’s death. He had been mystified at the strength of his father’s grief. His parents had lived separate lives in many ways, and yet his father had been almost inconsolable.
Charles rolled his shoulders and kept the glum look on his own face. It wouldn’t do to look bored but that’s what he was. So many people had offered their condolences and told him what a kind woman his mother had been, but they hadn’t had to put up with her vague days, her dithering and in the last few months her inability to manage the simplest of tasks. It shouldn’t surprise him that his father looked to Mrs Nixon for help. She held the household together.
“Ah, Mr Charles.”
Charles turned to accept the outstretched hand of his father’s business partner, Mr Button.
“We haven’t had a chance to offer our condolences.”
Mrs Button gave him a sad smile. “Your mother was such a kind lady.”
“Thank you.” Charles tried to sound suitably sad.
“Where is your dear little sister?”
“Mrs Hemming offered to stay at home with her.”
“Very sensible. She won’t understand all this, poor little darling.” Mrs Button dabbed her cheeks with her handkerchief. “Not even three and she’s lost her mama.”
“Father and I will take good care of her.”
“Oh, of course.” Mrs Button’s eyes brimmed again. “I didn’t mean—”
“Please have some refreshments, won’t you?” Charles excused himself and headed towards Georgina, who was now standing on the edge of the crowd sipping a cup of tea.
It was enough to put up with continued sad words and small talk about his mother but when they brought up his sister, Charles found it hard to remain calm. He blamed Laura for his mother’s demise. For as long as he could remember his mother had tried to have another baby. She had been so caught up in that she hadn’t had time to devote to her son. He’d learned to stand on his own feet and when help was needed Charles sought his father.
Finally his mother had produced another child and that child, Laura, had worn her down until she could no longer leave her bed. And yet Catherine had continued to pander to Laura, insisting the child sleep in her room, and reading her stories for as long as she had strength. So devoted had his mother been to her youngest child it had been some time since he’d had more than a simple hello or goodbye from her. In fact the last time they’d had a conversation had been his birthday two months earlier and even then he recalled they’d been interrupted by Laura wanting to give him some ridiculous gift she’d made with the help of Mrs Nixon. He banished thoughts of his mother and sister as he came to a halt beside Georgina, who was a very different kind of woman.
She welcomed him with a conciliatory smile. “You look worn out, Charles. Let me get you a cup of tea.”
He was up to his ears in tea but he allowed her to get him one anyway. He enjoyed having Georgina fuss over him the way she had since she and her mother arrived two days earlier. They had been busy with preparations but he had found himself seeking her out, craving her undivided attention. His mother’s death had been a timely event. He had seen less and less of Georgina in the last few months. She had taken over the running of Prosser’s Run with relish. It kept her busy and she never invited him to visit. At least the funeral had been an excuse to spend some time with her again.
“Here you are.” She placed the cup and saucer in his hands. “Nothing like a cup of tea. I drank so many after father died I felt as if I sloshed when I walked, but they did help me get through each day.”
Charles took a sip and smiled as if the tea had lifted his spirits when in fact he’d much prefer a nip of his father’s whisky. It was enough for him that Georgina stood close beside him, and he imagined her doing so as his wife. He had been so pleased to see her come out to the carriage dressed smartly in a dark suit with a wide skirt for the funeral. Her thick coppery hair was highlighted against the white collar of her shirt and the black of her silk jacket. Even in the dark clothes of mourning she looked so much better than when she wore the trousers she preferred for work on Prosser’s Run. Once they were married he would insist she got rid of them.
He put a gentle hand on her arm, savouring the opportunity to be close to her. “Thank goodness for you and your mother.”
“It’s the least we can do for friends.” Georgina glanced in her mother’s direction. “The circumstances are not of our wishing, but it has been good for both of us to be here. To mix in the community again. After Father’s death it was … Well it’s simply good to be able to spend time here.”
He bent closer, inhaling the sweet delicate scent she favoured for special outings, and desire surged within him. He hadn’t found a suitable woman with whom to release his urges since his return from the east. A man of his position in the community had to be discreet. He curled his fingers into his palms and focused on Georgina. “I hope you can stay for a few days, and your mother of course.”
“We have already spent two nights under your father’s roof. Mother may wish to stay longer. I am sure Mrs Nixon will appreciate the help and our shepherd Mr Swan will accompany her home whenever she is ready. I must leave early tomorrow morning.”
“You can’t ride alone.”
Georgina flicked her steely gaze over him. “Of course I can. I regularly ride from town to home alone. Good heavens, Charles, you do it.”
“But I—”
She raised one eyebrow.
“I know what a long journey it is, that’s all.” Charles thought her foolish to ride alone but he didn’t add that.
“Thank you for your concern.” The sweet smile returned to her face. “The cart is too slow for me, and I have a goo
d horse. I shall be home well before dark.”
Charles had no words to change her mind, although things would certainly alter in the future. He was seventeen now. In less than a year he would eighteen and in a position to make her his wife. Up until his mother’s funeral Georgina had kept him at arm’s length. No doubt she was still recovering from the death of her father, which had been far more of a shock to her than his mother’s death had been to him.
“I should help Mrs Nixon gather the plates and cups.” She studied him earnestly. “Will you be all right? I suppose men are different but I remember how bouts of sadness would suddenly overwhelm me after Father’s death. Even now they come from time to time.”
“I would prefer your company a little longer.” He swallowed the excitement he felt at her proximity and gave her what he hoped was the appropriate sad face of a man who had just lost his mother. “But I know Mrs Nixon will appreciate your help and I should go and check on Father. He will be tired from all the people wanting to talk to him.”
“It’s certainly been a big funeral. You must be so proud of how well your mother was regarded.” Georgina lifted her chin, took his cup and saucer and stacked them inside hers. “I will see you at your house later.” She turned away to collect more crockery.
Charles knew she would be remembering the small group that gathered to lay her father to rest. All the same he smiled at her departing figure, partly because she was so lovely and partly because he had a plan to involve Georgina in his life more and more.
There was a string of events that would see him mixing with the Prossers and spending time with Georgina, beginning with Christmas Eve dinner. Some might have thought the annual gathering wouldn’t happen this year but his father would understand the importance of going ahead with it. They should continue their new tradition of inviting important members of the community, especially after the debacle of the previous year, when Ellis Prosser’s presence had put people off. Then there was the cricket match in January, and in February his father would need assistance entertaining the Hawker Vigilance Committee, of which he was now chair. It was his duty to provide supper and some entertainment for their annual general meeting.
Charles knew he could find an event at least once each month for which they could conceivably require the assistance of the Prosser ladies. That, along with visits to Prosser’s Run, should put him in a position to offer her marriage by his birthday in September next year. In the meantime, he needed to find an outlet for the passion that had built within him.
“Is everything going well, Mr Charles? I hope you’re getting enough to eat.”
Charles looked down at Edith Ferguson, who carried a platter of meat-filled pastries.
He took two of the warm delicacies and then bit into one. It was delicious. Edith was regarding him closely. She had always taken a close interest in him. Perhaps …
“Thank you, Edith.” He glanced around. There was no-one near them. “This is delightful.” He waved the second pastry in front of her. “Did you make it?”
“No. Mrs Nixon is the queen of the kitchen.”
“Ahh!” Charles was inspired by her coy glance at him. “Your talents lie in looking after the shop, for which I must thank you. Times are difficult with the drought but you are doing a wonderful job. I do hope you know how much we appreciate your help.” He gave her one of his most charming smiles.
Edith gave him an equally delightful smile back and moved on to serve the food to others.
Charles lifted his shoulders, feeling very pleased with himself. While Edith wasn’t as pretty as Georgina she wasn’t unappealing. There was no-one to look out for her and she was close at hand. He stepped out to collect his father with a spring in his step, but was careful to replace his smile with the solemn look of a son filled with sorrow. There was nothing to be gained by letting people think he didn’t suitably mourn his mother.
Mrs Prosser retired as soon as the last of the dinner guests had left so that it was only Georgina who sat with Henry and Charles at the table. While he and his father enjoyed a whisky, Charles was pleased Georgina accepted a second glass of the white wine he had imported from Victoria.
“Just a small one,” she said. “I have an early start tomorrow.”
“You are still determined to leave us so soon.” Charles tried to look glum.
“We have been here three days. In any case, Mother is staying on.”
“It’s good of her.” Henry shifted in his chair. “We don’t want to impose on your kindness too often but I do hope you and your mother will continue to assist us in the future.” Now the funeral was over he appeared more alert. Charles had been glad to see him playing the perfect host over dinner.
“Assist?”
Georgina inclined her head in Henry’s direction. She had swept her hair into a twist on her head and Charles took in the pale skin of her neck, the tilt of her chin and the soft pink of her cheek. He had to clench his hand to stop himself from reaching out to touch her. Georgina was exquisite.
“We hope you and your mother will join us for Christmas.” Henry rolled his shoulders as if shifting a load. “We entertain many guests and now … without my dear wife … we are two men alone. I do want our gatherings to still have the genteel guidance of a woman’s touch.”
Henry’s gaze flicked in Charles’s direction then back to Georgina. Charles exhaled softly. Thank goodness his father was truly coming to his senses. He had come to realise what a good match Charles and Georgina would be and he was doing his bit. Much better Henry should ask the Prossers to assist them than Charles.
“Surely you have Mrs Nixon.”
“Mrs Nixon is an accomplished housekeeper, but she is not a hostess.” Charles was quick to add his piece. He had noticed his father deferring to their housekeeper in several instances after his mother’s death. It was important he didn’t continue the habit.
“You would be our guests as usual,” Henry said. “It will merely be the additional matter of presiding in the drawing room, and liaising with Mrs Nixon as you might your own housekeeper while our other guests are present — if, of course, that prospect is an attractive one. I haven’t asked your mother yet but I do hope you two ladies would do us the honour of being hostesses for our Christmas Eve dinner.”
Georgina sat back and folded her hands in her lap as she considered the suggestion. “I would be happy to as long as Mother agrees. We will do it together.”
“That’s settled then.” Charles took a sip of his whisky, pleased at her response.
“Now there is something I need to ask you two gentlemen to help me with.”
“Of course, we will do whatever we can,” Charles said.
“Perhaps you should wait and hear my request first.” A small crease lined Georgina’s brow. She took a deep breath. “It’s to do with the terrible business with my father’s shepherd.”
“Nothing was ever proved,” Henry said.
“I have been conducting my own enquiries.” Georgina looked pained. “Unfortunately there seems to be some truth in the allegations.”
Henry drew himself up. “Ellis died before he could have his say in court.”
“I have tracked down the man who spoke up about the beating. He is no longer in our employ but I remember him as always being trustworthy in the past.”
“As are all your father’s employees, I am sure,” Charles said.
Georgina turned to him. There was a deep sadness in her look. “Yes but my father was a commanding presence. They may not have always felt … free to speak out.”
“Neither should they.” Henry harrumphed. “Ellis was their employer and he looked after them well.”
“Loyalty is important, I grant you, and it is for that reason I wish to assist the fellow. It must have been difficult for him to speak up. I’ve spoken with Donovan about this. I can’t have the informant back at Prosser’s Run — the other men won’t work with him. However, times are difficult, and I’d like to help him find another job.”
>
“You want me to employ him?” Henry shook his head.
“Or perhaps find someone who will.”
“How is he with bullocks?” Charles looked from one to the other.
“He is certainly used to cattle and he would have worked with our bullock team at some stage.”
“I would like to take on another team.” Charles spoke to his father now. “Our transport business has plenty of work with the mines. It is doing much better than other aspects of our business at the moment.”
“We don’t want to bore Miss Prosser with such talk.” Henry raised his eyebrows at Charles and then turned back to Georgina. “Leave it with us and we will see what can be done.”
“Thank you, Mr Wiltshire, but there is one more thing I need your help with.”
“If we can.” Henry’s tone was reserved now.
“It’s to do with the shepherd himself. Albie, I believe his name is. I hear his injuries have left him crippled.” The lines across Georgina’s brow deepened. “I still find it hard to believe my father would have been so deliberately cruel. He is not here to defend himself but from what I have ascertained he had some hand in the affair.” She took a breath. “I would like to recompense Albie in some way, if that were possible; I’m not sure how.”
Henry pushed back his chair and stood. “Does your mother know about this?”
“We have discussed it. Like you she was disconcerted at first, but she has come to see my point of view.”
“Really, Georgina. I don’t believe it is necessary.”
“But very admirable, Father.” Charles could see Georgina was determined and the best course of action was to take her side. “Why don’t I see what I can do to get some money to him?”
“Oh thank you, Charles.” She rewarded him with her beautiful smile.
Henry gave a slight shake of his head. “I think it’s time to retire.”
Georgina rose and Charles jumped up to pull back her chair. “Thank you both,” she said. “Good night.”
Charles watched her elegant movement as she left the room. Once the door closed behind her his father spoke.
Jewel In the North Page 17
