Jewel In the North

by Tricia Stringer

  “And I’m not sure other jobs will be easy to come by.” Button leaned in. “It’s to remain in this room for the time but I have it on good authority one of the flour mills will be closing soon. So we won’t be the only ones laying off workers.”

  “It’s important we do what we can for the men and their families,” Pyman said.

  Henry ignored him. Pyman was a fool like Garrat, giving credit to people with little thought for his own business.

  They were interrupted by a knock at the door.

  “Come in,” Henry called.

  The door opened to reveal Edith carrying a tea tray.

  Henry stood and glanced at the small clock on his desk. “Ah, Miss Ferguson. Right on time. I thought you might need some refreshments, gentlemen.”

  The other two glanced at each other as they stood.

  “Thank you, no.” Pyman shook his head. “I must return to my shop.”

  “If our business is done for today there are other matters I must see to.” Button made for the door and Pyman followed.

  “We will speak again soon.” Henry turned from their departing backs to Edith, who had set her tray on the corner of his desk. “It seems it is only to be one for tea then, Edith. Would you care to join me?”

  “Oh.” Edith glanced towards the door. “Mr Charles is watching the shop so that I could prepare the refreshments for your guests.”

  “Then there’s no hurry to return. I am sure my son is quite capable of taking care of business.”

  “Well, yes, of course … it has been a busy morning.”

  “That’s some good news at least.” Henry flopped back in his chair.

  Edith hesitated over the tea things.

  “Please do keep me company. Charles will manage.”

  “Very well, Mr Wiltshire, thank you. I would be glad to be off my feet for a minute or two.”

  Henry studied Edith as she set out two cups and poured the tea. She wore a crisp white high-necked blouse tucked into a black skirt. The skirt had several gores and was narrower than the wide skirts still favoured by most of the local ladies. Edith’s hazel eyes were her most redeeming feature, given her sharp pointy nose, narrow chin and high forehead, made more severe by the tight pull of the bun high on her head. Not the most beautiful young woman, but she was quick to learn and definitely an asset to their business. Charles had chosen well.

  She placed a cup and saucer on the desk in front of him.

  “Please take a seat, Edith, and tell me how you are finding the shop? We have had little time to talk these last few months.”

  Edith perched on the edge of the chair Pyman had recently vacated and lowered her cup and saucer to her lap.

  “I believe business is going well enough, Mr Wiltshire, considering the current difficulties many people face.”

  “We’ve cut back on the amount we stock but we still maintain a good selection.”

  “Your range is superior to anything else Hawker has to offer and that is certainly appreciated by your more discerning customers but …”

  “But?”

  “Not many can afford the quality you provide. It’s grand stock of course.”

  Henry liked the hint of pride he heard in her voice. “And you’ve arranged it all so well.”

  “I do enjoy dressing the mannequins for the windows.” Edith’s smile smoothed the sharpness from her face. “Having one for men’s clothing as well as ladies is a wonderful addition.”

  “You make a good job of it, my dear.” Henry gave her what he hoped was a melancholy look. “My dear wife used to be so good at that kind of thing.”

  “You must miss her terribly.”

  Henry lowered his gaze to his cup and took a sip of the tea. “I do.” He certainly felt glum today but it was more about the creamery closing and his mounting financial burdens than mourning his wife’s passing. However, appearances were important, and he must continue to act the part of the grieving widower for some time yet. It had only been four months. Catherine’s death had been a shock when it happened but he had recovered his composure in the weeks after. Business kept him busy, Flora had been a comfort in all ways and then there was his sweet little Laura, such a delightful child. The Prosser ladies had stepped in when he’d needed a woman’s touch with entertaining — thank goodness Charles had organised that — and life went on. He rarely thought of Catherine any more.

  “… and she would have loved the winter umbrellas we’ve just received. They are tartan instead of black.”

  Henry looked up. Edith was still prattling about his wife. “The new stock is all unpacked then?”

  “Yes, Mr Wiltshire.”

  “I will place an advertisement in the paper.”

  “There are so many lovely items. We have some luxurious leather gloves with fur at the cuffs and—”

  “You pick what you think best for the advertisement and let me know.”

  “Yes, Mr Wiltshire.”

  The door of Henry’s office opened.

  “There you are, Edith.” Charles raised his eyebrows at his father.

  “Miss Ferguson has been informing me of the latest stock arrivals, Charles.” Henry inclined his head to Edith, who was now busy tidying the tea things.

  “I have some customers who would prefer a woman’s expertise.” Charles folded his arms and leaned against the doorframe.

  “Of course, Mr Charles, I’ll be right there.”

  “Leave the tea things,” Henry said. “Charles can join me now. We have some things to discuss.”

  “Very well.” Edith walked briskly from the room but at the door she slowed; she had to edge past Charles, who still lounged in the doorway, a smirk on his face.

  Henry took in his son’s cheeky gaze. He would have to speak with Charles about his rather familiar behaviour with Edith. Henry knew Charles felt frustration over his lack of progress with Georgina Prosser, but he had to bide his time. While a dalliance with Edith would no doubt release his physical needs it would inevitably cause difficulties. Henry thought of Flora Nixon and how lucky he had been to keep his marriage and his mistress. He wasn’t sure Charles was capable of being as discreet as such a situation would require. Nor did Edith necessarily possess Flora’s forbearance.

  Anger simmered just below the surface but Charles swallowed it and smiled instead as he opened the shop door for a couple loaded with grocery items. His father had just given him a ticking off. Well that’s what it had felt like, as if he were still a little boy to be chastised. Charles closed the door and glanced towards the arch that led to the emporium. Through the gap he had a glimpse of Edith, bent over the counter measuring out some fabric. Henry’s warning to steer clear of her only made Charles desire her more. His father was an old man now and might be happy with a celibate life but there was no way Charles could be.

  Then there was the other news about the creamery. Charles knew it hadn’t been doing well but to have it close was not only a business loss but an embarrassment. The Wiltshires had a reputation for good business. Charles did not want anything to tarnish that.

  He patted his pocket, where the telegram from Becker was safely stored. The claim had been lodged and Becker was on his way to Hawker. Becker was also sending a letter of intent care of Charles to hand on to the Bakers. Charles wasn’t at all concerned about them. They were on leased land and the letter was merely a formality. He had much more important things to think about. Along with his carrier business he had high hopes that diamond mining would improve their prospects.

  The door opened with a tinkle of the bell and Mrs Taylor bustled into the shop.

  “Good morning, Charles. My goodness, what’s put that big smile on your face?”

  Charles gave a short bow and extended his hand towards the counter. “It’s always a pleasure to have you in our shop, Mrs Taylor.”

  “What a delightful young man you are.” Mrs Taylor’s eyes sparkled and she leaned closer. “I do hope the equally delightful Miss Prosser will be on your arm at my dinner o
n Saturday evening?”

  “We are expecting Georgina and her mother to accompany us.” Charles kept his face locked in the smile but underneath he groaned. Dinner with the Taylors was about as exciting as watching a bicycle race. However, it did mean that Georgina would be in town for a few days and that was something to look forward to. “I will see you on Saturday, Mrs Taylor.”

  Charles stepped out from the open door of the shop to the verandah. The sky was bare of cloud except for a few white wisps on the horizon, and, though the sun was warm, the wind had a sharp chill to it. There had been a sprinkle of rain the previous week; a teasing amount barely enough to settle the dust. Clarence Brown rode by on his bicycle, giving Charles a cheery wave as he passed.

  “Damned bicycles,” Charles muttered. Several people had taken to riding the contraptions around Hawker and even beyond. His father insisted they should be present at the upcoming annual bicycle sports: the local gentry always attended to witness the events even if they didn’t ride themselves. Henry had even suggested Charles learn to ride a bike and that perhaps they could sell them, but Charles was having none of it. A bicycle was of no use to him in his carrier business or his trips further afield to Prosser’s Run.

  He waited for a horse and buggy to pass then crossed to the other side of the road where he could look back at the shop. He liked to do this from time to time. His father’s original shop still bore the name of Hawker General Trader and Forwarding Agent but it was the black letters on the white paint of the other shop roof that he admired. Wiltshire & Son Emporium had a fine sound to it.

  A wagon drawn by two horses with a third tethered behind drew up in front. He smiled, adjusted his tie and strode back across the street. Georgina was already climbing down from the wagon but he made it in time to assist Mrs Prosser.

  “What a pleasant surprise,” he said.

  “We are a day early.” Mrs Prosser brushed at her skirts and readjusted her hat. “I hope it won’t be an inconvenience.”

  “It’s never an inconvenience to have the two delightful Prosser ladies under our roof.”

  Mrs Prosser patted his cheek and smiled but Charles had caught a glimpse of Georgina’s raised eyebrow from the other side of the wagon. She was obviously not in the mood for small talk. He ignored her and offered Mrs Prosser his arm. Together they walked around the horses and stepped onto the shop verandah.

  Charles smiled at the lady coming out of his shop with several parcels in her basket. Mrs Maynard was a good customer. Her husband was an auctioneer and forwarding agent as well as a councillor and she was, though a Catholic, well regarded and on several committees. Her return smile withered when she saw the Prosser ladies and she hurried on her way.

  “Are you sure you want to be seen with us, Charles?” Georgina’s tone was sharp. “It seems some people still judge us for my father’s poor behaviour.”

  “They will come round in time, I am sure.”

  Johanna sighed as they watched Mrs Maynard stop across the street to talk to the doctor’s wife. “I always thought Martha Maynard such a kind person.”

  “Never mind, Mother.” Georgina slipped her arm though Johanna’s. “We know who our real friends are at least.”

  Charles was glad to see her turn a warm smile in his direction.

  “Yes.” He rubbed his hands together. “And we have been looking forward to your visit.”

  “The ride in was pleasant,” Georgina continued. “We made good time and camped at First Creek last night.”

  “We were amazed there was no water in it.” Mrs Prosser said. “We’ve had some rain at Prosser’s Run.”

  “Not such a grand amount, Mother, but enough to refresh the small quantities remaining in the waterholes.”

  “That is good news,” Charles said. “We have not been so lucky here, I’m afraid — only a few drops, and there’s been no word of rain from other parts of the district.”

  The wind plucked at their jackets and Charles ushered the ladies inside, glad that Mrs Maynard’s snub had been brushed aside.

  Georgina went straight to Miss Ferguson, who waited behind the counter with a welcome smile. The Prossers had not come to town for the opening of the emporium the previous December and this was only the second visit Georgina had paid.

  “I have worn out my last pair of riding gloves, Edith.”

  “Oh what perfect timing, Miss Prosser.” Edith indicated a display further along the counter. “We have a delightful new leather range just arrived.”

  “The wind outside is bitter, Charles.” Mrs Prosser remained at his side. “It’s much more cosy in here.”

  “A sign of another cold winter ahead.” He continued the conversation while keeping an eye on Georgina, who was exclaiming over the gloves.

  “We have already been to the house and unpacked. We have an appointment at the bank and Georgina wanted to call in here of course.” Mrs Prosser leaned in closer. “She’s so serious these days with the weight of managing Prosser’s Run. My daughter is not always one to show it, but she always likes to see you, Charles.”

  Charles wished her words were true but he had made little progress with Georgina since their encounter with Baker on New Year’s Eve. He found it devilishly frustrating.

  Georgina and her mother were spending three days in Hawker and as usual they were to stay with the Wiltshires. Henry had planned a special dinner to entertain the visiting magistrate and the Protector of Aborigines on Friday night, and there was the Taylors’ gathering on Saturday night. Mrs Maynard was not the only person with a long memory. Few other people invited the Prosser ladies into their homes.

  There was plenty of opportunity to be with Georgina, if only she would let down her guard a little. Despite the news she’d received regarding William being the father of his housekeeper’s child, Charles knew Georgina still harboured some hope for Baker’s return. Somehow Charles had to convince her that he, rather than that uncouth scoundrel, was the man for her.

  Twenty-five

  September 1899

  Clem looked down at the baby in his arms and felt his chest swell. His son had grown robust in the six months since his early arrival. They had named him Haji after Jessie’s father. Clem liked the sound of it, the way it rolled off his tongue. It was a good strong name.

  Haji gave a small cry and Clem glanced in Jessie’s direction. She was busy at the fire, making them some tea. It had been a bitterly cold night and the rays of the September sun were slow to warm them. Clem pulled the blanket tighter around his shoulders and snuggled his son closer.

  “Shh, little one.” He kissed the soft brown curls on top of his son’s head. “Your mother is busy.”

  They were making their way to the bottom waterhole, where Clem would stay for a few weeks. Hegarty had already left for Smith’s Ridge and would journey on to Hawker. He’d been up there in the ranges watching over the remaining cattle for two months since his last break.

  Jessie had been eager to come with Clem: she didn’t want to be at the house alone. Having the baby had changed her. Before Haji came along she had stayed at Smith’s Ridge on her own quite often but since the baby she always had a look of terror if Clem said he was going anywhere without her. Clem wondered if Millie’s fears of having her children taken away had influenced Jessie. Not that he minded Jessie’s company — and he was pleased his son would learn from an early age how to live in the bush.

  He smiled now as his wife came towards him with a steaming mug of tea and a hunk of damper.

  “I will take him now,” she said as she exchanged the food for her son.

  The bellow of a cow made Clem pause. He listened but there was no further call. The sound had come from further below them but it was hard to judge the direction. The bottom waterhole was only a short distance down the ridge. The place he’d chosen for them to stop and make a fire was more sheltered, with the side of the ridge arcing inwards to form a cave-like curve over their heads. There were several big trees and a small sandy plateau void of
cow dung. There was room for horses and a small camp that would serve them well while they waited for Hegarty’s return.

  “We will make our camp here,” Clem said. “It’s not far to the waterhole and the cattle shouldn’t bother us.”

  Jessie settled on the ground against the trunk of a tree with the baby.

  “It’s pretty here.”

  “I’m pleased you like this country like I do.” He sat beside her to finish his tea and damper then collected the large water bag from his saddle. “I’ll go and check the waterhole and refill this while I’m there.” He bent to kiss Jessie’s head. She smiled back at him and he set off on foot to make the journey down the ridge to the waterhole.

  He came across a young bull scratching its scrawny rump on the branch of a tree. It stopped on his approach and eyeballed him. Clem froze. He was happy looking after sheep but he had never overcome his wariness of cattle, especially bulls, which he regarded as unpredictable. The bellow of a cow sounded loudly from beyond the bull. The ragged animal ignored both the call and Clem and went back to its scratching.

  Clem took a longer path through the bush and came out on the other side of the creek that broadened into the waterhole. Once more he came to a sudden stop at the sight before him. A man was bending over the deep section of the waterhole, filling a bucket. A distance either side of him was a crude fence running from the waterhole to the high creek bank. Beyond him on the bank above were a tent, a small wagon and three horses tethered under some trees. Two young cows stood on the opposite side of the waterhole a few feet from the shallow water; once more one of them bellowed. The man ignored them and took his bucket back to a table Clem hadn’t noticed before. It was set up in the shade against the base of the creek bank and piled high with rocks. No doubt this was the fossicker they had seen signs of several months earlier.

  Clem crossed the creek around behind the waterhole and came up on the other side. The man was so intent on his task, washing rocks and inspecting them closely, that he didn’t hear Clem’s approach.