by Téa Cooper
Elsie dropped the nightgown onto the table as though it might infect her with licentious thoughts. ‘If you sleep in something like that you’ll get a chill. And goodness only knows what else.’
Now was the moment. She’d planned it. Sat every night in front of the fire after Ruan was asleep, sewing. Not just for Elsie, but also because it calmed her, soothed her. ‘What do you think of this?’ She held up a bright red flannel petticoat.
Elsie’s eyes lit up. ‘Oh my. It’s a petticoat.’ She as good as snatched it from Roisin’s hands, running her work-worn fingers over the soft flannel, then held it against her cheek and let out a long, low sigh. ‘I’d give my eye teeth, if I had any, for something like that.’
‘It’s for you.’
She smoothed it like a pet cat. ‘For me?’
‘Yes, for you. A present. A thankyou for all you’ve done for me and Ruan.’
‘I can’t be taking it. Not as a gift like. It’s not right.’
‘I’d like you to take it. I couldn’t have settled in without your help and I owe you money for everything I’ve bought in the shop.’
‘Tut-tut! I know you’re good for the money. You keep it and sell it to one of your customers.’ Elsie peered furtively around, giving the petticoat a loving pat as though she couldn’t bear to part with it despite her best intentions. Then she thrust it into Roisin’s hands, her face blanching. ‘There’s Maisie. She’s ’eading this way. Quick, put it away. I don’t want ’er to see it.’
‘I’ve got one for Maisie, too.’
‘You got one for Maisie?’ Elsie frowned.
What a silly mistake. ‘The one I have for Maisie is nothing like yours. It’s a blue check. Not red.’
‘You think I’m the kind of person who would wear red unmentionables?’ Her face flushed as she struggled to regain her composure. ‘And she’s not?’
When Maisie rapped on the door Roisin slid the red petticoat under the cushion on the chair. Just as well because Maisie marched straight in. ‘So when is the grand opening?’
‘I’m not planning on a grand opening. I was going to ask if I could put a sign up in the shop window and down at the inn.’ Roisin held up the sign she’d worked on last night while Ruan was asleep. The charcoal had smudged a little, though it was still readable and the elegant woman she’d drawn with her large-brimmed hat and tightly fitting pelisse looked all the better for the softening of the lines.
Maisie and Elsie peered at it. ‘What does it say?’
‘The undersigned, Roisin Ogilvie, is prepared to do dressmaking and all kinds of needlework to suit ladies at moderate charges.’
‘So it’s not just alterations. You’ll be making things from scratch?’
Roisin nodded. ‘If someone would like them. If you’d put the sign up in your window, Elsie, and I’d like to ask you if you could please tell everybody who comes into the shop that they’re very welcome to come and have a look and see what I can make.’
‘Will you be thinking I should be showing my petticoat? I could twitch my skirt a little bit.’ Elsie clapped her hand over her mouth.
Roisin laughed and drew out the petticoat from under the cushion. ‘The petticoat is for you, no matter what. I hope you like it.’
Maisie let out a shocked gasp, her eyes wide and her gaze darting between the red petticoat and Elsie’s outstretched hands. ‘I have one for you, too, Maisie. If you’d do me the honour of taking it.’
‘For me? You wouldn’t catch me wearing anything that colour, I can tell you.’ She folded her arms across her bosom as if to defy the audacity of the bright red flannel.
Roisin eased the blue-checked petticoat, trimmed with white lace, from the trunk. ‘I thought this might be more your style.’
Maisie’s face softened and her lower lip trembled. ‘I love it. You wait till Harry sees it. Next thing you know I’ll have another baby on my hands and I’m too old for that.’
‘I didn’t think that was how you make babies.’
‘That shows you how much you know.’
Roisin smiled. They’d helped her so much, it was the least she could do to repay their kindness. ‘So you’ll both be taking the petticoats, then?’
The two women exchanged glances. ‘Wouldn’t want to upset you. Tell you what,’ Maisie glanced at Elsie to check she was in agreement, ‘suppose we take ’em as payment for displaying your advertisement and spreading the word like. Means you’ll have to do up a few more of them signs.’
‘I’ll give ’em to the women when they come in to the store.’
‘And I’ll give ’em to the men …’
Elsie gave an outraged shriek. ‘You will not, Maisie Kidd.’
‘Well maybe not. I’ll keep ’em under the counter for when the travellers come through and give ’em to the ladies. Never know who wants what.’
‘Are you sure you don’t mind?’ Roisin asked.
‘Doing you a favour, so I don’t feel so bad about taking your gift.’ Elsie grinned. ‘Do you think I’ve got time to put it on now before my Alfie gets home?’
Roisin held back the curtain she’d hung across the corner. ‘Madam, if you’d like to step this way.’
‘Oh, no one can see. It’s very clever.’ Elsie disappeared and after a lot of huffing and puffing reappeared a few minutes later with cheeks as red as her new petticoat. She twitched the bottom of her skirt. There was a flash of colour and a little bit of lace. ‘Your turn now, Maisie. Go on.’
Maisie frowned and scowled a bit, then held out her hand for the petticoat and disappeared behind the screen.
‘You should be putting something in The Maitland Mercury, too. That’s where they have advertisements for important things. Then you’ll be attracting some of the high-fliers around town. The Winchesters and their fancy friends.’
Seven
My dear Aunt Lil,
I am sorry it has taken me so long to write at any length, but the days have been busy. My trunks arrived and now the place is beginning to feel like home. Ruan has settled in well and he has his own room in the attic. He is busy collecting treasures, which he constantly finds around the place. I am keeping up with his lessons.
Chewing the end of the pencil Roisin stared into the fire. Should she mention the cedar cutter and the strange friendship they’d struck up? Probably not. In a way she longed for Carrick’s return as much as Ruan did and regretted having told him to leave. She shook her head and sketched a quick drawing of the two petticoats she’d made. She’d remedy that when he returned. She licked the end of her pencil.
Business is beginning to come my way. I have made two petticoats, one red and one with the pretty blue check I had in the trunk. Several local women have sought my advice on matters and I hope it will lead to commissions.
A slight deviation from the truth as the petticoats had been gifts, though they had led to several visits from local women, or maybe the advertisements had. More out of curiosity than anything else. Nothing she could imagine leading to any great result. Some advice on buttonholes and a badly fitting sleeve, turning a frayed collar and repairing a snag in a lace pelerine. However, the money Aunt Lil had given her was holding up and she and Ruan wanted for nothing.
The house is very cosy and with much washing and scrubbing many of the existing furnishings are quite satisfactory.
That part was at least true. The pile of rag rugs and curtains she’d found in the corner of the kitchen had cleaned up a treat and made the house more comfortable, and the two soft chairs she’d discovered in the woodshed had pride of place by the fire.
As always I miss your company and that of the girls, but I am not dissatisfied with my life and believe we have made the right decision. Ruan is so much stronger. The fresh air and freedom is seeing him grow. He hasn’t had one single bout of the breathing sickness since we left.
Please write to me soon and let me know how life is in Sydney.
She wouldn’t, couldn’t mention his name, wouldn’t tempt fate.
I miss you all and long to hear your news.
With all my love
Roisin let out a huge sigh and pushed the paper across the table. She was doing no more than marking time, and no matter how hard she tried to convince herself, being in Wollombi was the best outcome for Ruan. There were days when she missed home, missed the only other life she’d ever known.
She drifted into the bedroom and sank down on the edge of the bed, running her fingers over the complicated patchwork of the quilt. Pieces of the past all neatly sewn together, a map of her life. She stroked the silken offcuts of the first corset she’d ever made and Ruan’s first dress. It was to have been his baptismal gown, but the priest had refused to mark the father as unknown despite Aunt Lil’s insistence, and poor Ruan had never been baptised.
‘Roisin.’ Elsie’s eager tone roused her.
She shook her head and straightened her skirt. Such maudlin thoughts. Maybe it was a customer coming to order a ball gown. The idea made her laugh aloud. Who in Wollombi would ever need a ball gown?
‘I have a letter for you.’
Almost as good as a ball gown. She threw open the door.
‘Mr Sullivan picked it up for you in Morpeth when he went for the mail.’
‘Oh, Elsie, thank you.’ She took the envelope and turned it over, her heart lifting as she saw the familiar handwriting. ‘It’s from my aunt in Sydney.’
A flicker of confusion crossed Elsie’s face. ‘I thought you said you had no family.’
‘She’s not my real aunt. A friend of my mother’s.’ That was a foolish slip. She’d have to be more careful. ‘Thank you so much for delivering it. I shall make a cup of tea and go and read it in the sunshine.’
‘Suppose I better be getting back to my work, then. Can’t be hanging around here all day.’ Obviously the prospect of sharing news, good or bad, had brightened her day and she felt owed since Mr Sullivan had picked up the letter and she’d delivered it with her own hand.
‘Thank you, Elsie and please thank Mr Sullivan, it’ll be lovely to get news of home.’
‘Thought this was home.’
‘Of course it’s home now, Elsie.’ Aunt Lil must have known she was missing her and written, just as she’d been framing a letter herself. She ran her finger under the seal and the single piece of paper fell out of the envelope before she was back through the front door.
Sinking down at the table, she unfolded the paper and immediately inhaled the exotic waft of perfume that took her back to the house in Sydney.
My dear Roisin,
Forgive my earlier silence. I thought it would be better to wait. I have good news. The gentleman in question did call on several occasions and was disappointed to discover you were no longer in Sydney.
Disappointed, that was an understatement. She could imagine him thumping through Aunt Lil’s rooms, questioning the girls and generally being aggressive and obnoxious. There was little he could do. He couldn’t prove Ruan was his child. It was only that first chance meeting on the street that had sparked his curiosity. He’d known instantly. She’d seen it in his eyes, but he couldn’t prove it no matter how much he dogged her footsteps and made her life a misery. It could never be more than his word against hers, although his word would undoubtedly carry more weight, bearing in mind his associations in the colony. Why would he want to acknowledge a bastard child?
We were pleased to discover he was married and so I feel that his interest in Ruan was nothing but a passing fancy. However, do not allow yourself to be lulled into a false sense of security. Plan as we always have to remain in Wollombi and hopefully the time will come when we can put all of this behind us and welcome your return.
Perhaps his wife had absorbed his interest. Maybe she was with child and he had no inclination to seek out Ruan. She folded the letter and pushed it deep into her pocket. Aunt Lil’s words had set her mind at rest and she couldn’t wait to read the rest and respond. If only she had some better news about business. Patience, she schooled herself. Patience.
For the next few days Roisin buried herself in her work, determined to have some samples available if any customers ever turned up. The parlour at the front of the house was all arranged and a fire burned in the grate. Her materials, ribbons, lace and cottons were stored in her trunk, and scissors, needles and silks tidily arranged and close at hand.
The knock on the door took her by surprise. She put down her sewing and peered through the window. A man dressed in a long black frock coat and a stern expression stood on the doorstep.
‘Mrs Ogilvie?’ His face showed no movement, no sign of a smile. A cold, hard lump settled in her stomach. Who was he? He seemed so officious, a little scary. Rather as she’d imagined Father Benson, except he was round, red-faced and smiling. This man was the exact opposite. Surely Aunt Lil’s cheerful message wasn’t going to be slapped away so quickly. She wanted more time to bask in the warm glow of success and the knowledge that leaving Sydney had been the right thing to do.
‘My name is Blackmore, madam, Mr Blackmore. I’m the schoolmaster. You may have heard of me.’
Oh yes, she had. She let out a breath of relief and then gasped. Was he going to try to make her send Ruan to school? He couldn’t do that. She’d kept up his lessons. She wasn’t ready to let him go just yet. Despite Aunt Lil’s assurances, she still needed to know he was close. And besides, she hadn’t enough money to throw away on tuition. At six Ruan was too young for school.
‘I think you should consider sending your boy to school.’
She squared her shoulders, ready to do battle. ‘I teach Ruan myself. His education is not lacking.’ Ruan lacked for nothing. Ruan was young but he was in no way behind with his letters and numbers. At least not at present, but he would be if she continued to let him spend the days down by the brook hunting for treasures. She was proud that everyone had so much time for him and thought him older than his age. He’d grown taller in the last month, was quick-witted and spoke well, so many people thought him eight or nine.
‘No, madam his education is not lacking, of that I’m certain. You’ve done a remarkable job. I was lucky enough to bump into him down at the brook the other afternoon and I had a little chat with him.’
Ruan had said nothing about a chat. Why didn’t she know? Perhaps she’d been neglecting him. ‘Ruan! Come here, please.’
She ushered Mr Blackmore into the parlour. ‘Please come and sit down.’ She indicated the single chair in front of the fire.
‘Madam, there is nowhere for you to sit. I couldn’t.’
‘Please, Mr Blackmore I’m quite content sitting here.’ She perched on the edge of her trunk. ‘Please excuse me. This is my work room, my shop, it’s the most suitable place for me to receive you.’ Turning away slightly, she called Ruan again.
Mr Blackmore cleared his throat. ‘Before Ruan arrives I’d like to inquire whether you are opposed to sending him to school. I have it on very good authority that you intend to develop your little business and I thought …’ He waved one long, thin hand in the air and left his sentence hanging.
Such a double-edged sword. It was good to know people were talking about her business, but not Ruan, not her private life. Was it going to be impossible to keep the two separate?
The corner of his mouth quirked and for the first time she saw a glimmer of emotion in his face. ‘My wife has many friends in the area.’
And there was the answer. His wife and her friends had been jabbering. Hopefully they would all like new dresses.
‘I’d like to teach Ruan. I believe he has a good mind and would benefit from some formal instruction.’
Of course he had a good mind, surely a mother would know that. His mind was not the problem, her purse was. ‘Mr Blackmore, I agree with you and I’d love to see Ruan spend time with children of his own age and benefit from your experience.’ There, that should set his mind to rest. Praise a man and he always became more amenable. Another of Aunt Lil’s gems which seemed to be holding her in very good stead,
despite the difference in their businesses. ‘I’ll be honest with you, Mr Blackmore. I simply can’t afford the school fees until my business turns a profit.’ There, it was said.
‘Why don’t we ask Ruan his thoughts on the matter? Ruan!’
Immediately, Ruan appeared. What was it about him and these men? One word, whether from cedar cutter or schoolteacher, and he was as good as gold.
‘Ruan, my boy.’
‘Good morning, Mr Blackmore.’ Ruan stood next to her cool, calm and detached. He was growing up and she’d hardly noticed. He needed a new pair of breeches and his shirt strained across the shoulders. Being out of Sydney and having the space to run must have made the difference.
‘Ruan, would you like to go to school?’ Mr Blackmore asked the question straight out and simply. No specially prepared speeches. Just directly. She admired him for that.
‘Yes, I would. Mam?’
‘I’d love you to go to school, too.’ She turned to Mr Blackmore. ‘Ruan is only six. Maybe next year when we have a little more money?’
Ruan nodded his head, his disappointment obvious. ‘I told you, Mr Blackmore. I can’t go to school just yet. Maybe next year.’
‘I might have a solution to that problem, Mrs Ogilvie. I’ve been talking to my wife—her brother’s daughter is getting married next month and we’ll be travelling to Sydney for the wedding. She would dearly love a new outfit for the occasion. There’ll be insufficient time to arrange this when we arrive in Sydney and we can’t leave earlier because of my commitments to my pupils.’
Was this to be her first commission? A dress for a wedding. Mrs Blackmore, who was she? What did she look like? What would she require? A bubble of anticipation lodged in her chest and she clasped her hands tight and craned forward.
Mr Blackmore cleared his throat. ‘She wondered if perhaps you could make over one of her dresses? If you would be prepared to assist her I would waive Ruan’s school fees for the remainder of the term. How does that sound?’
