The Cedar Cutter

by Téa Cooper

  By the time she returned to the parlour he was fast asleep. She tucked her quilt around him and picked up the long-forgotten corset and drawers. While she’d played and primped with silk and satin in the relative safety of Aunt Lil’s and Madame de Lolle’s, this man, the Irish, had suffered more than she could ever imagine—and Australia was the convict colony? She lay her sewing atop the trunk, doused the lamp and closed the door softly. Let him sleep in comfort by the fire before he set off again. How she’d miss the handsome Irishman when he left. He’d worked his way into her heart, into the fibre of her life. Ruan would not be the only one cut to the very quick when he departed.

  Eleven

  With little time for sleep, Roisin measured, cut and sewed in an anxious blur, her thoughts constantly returning to Carrick. When she’d woken the next morning he’d gone. The bullock dray had left and only the remnants of the fire remained at the campsite down by the brook.

  With the aid of her sewing machine, she’d managed to finish the basic dress and today when Mrs Winchester arrived she’d check her measurements before she began the lace overskirt and embellishments. The undergarments, unmentionables—she grinned at the memory of Carrick’s face and the twinkle in his eyes when she’d shown him the drawers—had come up a treat. If she hadn’t known better he might have been imagining her dressed in them.

  A flush of heat washed over her, doused by the memory of their conversation that followed. The horror of his story was more than she could imagine. She tried to force it to the back of her mind; however, in the long evenings while Ruan slept and she sewed, she couldn’t help but remember the agony etched deep on his face, as much a scar as the brand on his shoulder.

  She shook out the corset. Although as yet unadorned, it would provide Mrs Winchester with sufficient support to show the dress to its best advantage. If only she had some more lace; tatting had never been a skill she’d mastered.

  The knock on the door came at nine-thirty sharp and she smoothed her skirt and answered it.

  ‘Good morning, Mrs Winchester, Lady Alice.’

  ‘Good morning, Roisin. I brought Lady Alice with me again as she is to be the first to witness your skill. We are beside ourselves with anticipation, are we not?’ She turned to the dour Lady Alice, attired today in a vomit-coloured walking-out coat trimmed with a mustard-yellow stitching. Whoever was responsible for the lady’s wardrobe deserved to be taken out and shot. Brushing her uncharitable thoughts aside, she led the way into the parlour.

  Mrs Winchester scanned the room. ‘Where is it? I’m agog. I simply can’t wait.’

  ‘Your dress is hanging behind the curtain. I must ask you to put it on. I can’t make the final adjustments without seeing you in it. The corset is also there. I will draw the curtains across the window. Would you like me to lock the door?’

  ‘That won’t be necessary.’

  Roisin busied herself at the window and Lady Alice dropped into the chair while Mrs Winchester disappeared behind the curtain.

  Butterflies peaked and swooped in Roisin’s stomach as she waited for the verdict.

  ‘Are you ready for lacing?’

  ‘I am.’ Clad in a hooped petticoat, under-linen and the corset, Mrs Winchester stepped from behind the screen into the middle of the room, her eyes closed. ‘Please, help me with the dress.’

  As the rose silk slipped over her head Mrs Winchester shivered, and when the skirt pooled on the ground Lady Alice let out a gasp. ‘It’s exquisite. I had no idea you had such skill.’ She beamed, her sallow face shiny. ‘Would it be possible …? I wonder if you would have the time …’

  Roisin’s stomach sank. If Lady Alice asked her to make a dress, she’d have to refuse. Not only did she not have any suitable material, she simply hadn’t the time. Even if she stayed up all night for the next week she’d never be able to get it finished.

  Mrs Winchester smoothed her hands down her dress and stood on the low stool for Roisin to pin the hem. ‘Now see what we have started. You will have a constant trail of ladies clamouring for your services.’

  ‘I shall look like an under-stuffed duck,’ Lady Alice mourned. ‘My dress is nowhere near suitable to stand alongside you.’

  How she hated to turn Lady Alice away. Creating a new dress was out of the question, but perhaps … ‘I might be able to help you. If you call back tomorrow we could take a look at the dress you intend to wear. Perhaps a little nip and a tuck here and there could make all the difference.’

  ‘And one of your magic corsets,’ Mrs Winchester added, smoothing her hands over her hips and turning to show off her new silhouette.

  Lady Alice’s skin bloomed, an instant improvement. ‘Could you?’

  Roisin nodded, resisting the grin which wanted to creep across her face. If they only knew what she could do with a corset. Turn a duck into a peacock. Maybe that was the solution to Lady Alice’s problems. Some discreet padding to soften her angular shape. An easy fix with some cleverly placed carded lamb’s wool and a fichu of lace. ‘As I said, there isn’t the time to make a new dress, but I’m sure I could fashion a new corset for you. First tell me about your dress.’

  Lady Alice’s eyes brightened. ‘It’s a little difficult to describe, the colour is, well, the colour is unusual …’

  Please, God let it not be vomit yellow. ‘Would you be able to bring it in tomorrow?’ She glanced at Mrs Winchester. ‘Is that possible?’

  ‘I have a previous engagement; however, I shall arrange for my driver to escort Lady Alice.’

  Roisin knelt and pinned up the underskirt of Mrs Winchester’s dress. ‘I need to hem this for you and attach the overskirt. I could have it delivered as soon as I finish and then I’d be free to spend the next few days assisting Lady Alice.’

  Happy with their morning, the two ladies left and Roisin slumped against the front door. Why had she agreed? She’d no idea except the poor woman was such a mouse she tugged at her heart, making her want to help.

  She reached up and stretched, circling her neck, soothing her cramped muscles, which were stiff after the long hours of sewing the previous evening. It would have to be a very plain corset for Lady Alice because she’d just about run out of ribbons and lace. She must find the time to write to Aunt Lil and get some more sent. If only she could order another pair of hands at the same time. She certainly needed them.

  Pulling the door closed behind her, she strolled into the General Store. Maybe Elsie still had some silks left and she could add some embroidery to Lady Alice’s corset in place of lace.

  ‘Elsie, I was wondering if you have any silks, or have I bought them all? Oh. I beg your pardon.’ She stopped dead and clamped her hand over her mouth. Elsie hung over a frail woman, patting her back while she slumped on the chair mopping a bucketful of tears. ‘I’m sorry, I’ll come back later.’ The woman sniffed and lifted her head. Roisin’s breath caught. One side of her face was the colour of thunderclouds, bruises blossoming across her cheekbone and around her eye.

  The woman shook her head. ‘Don’t go.’ She wiped her hand across her nose. ‘I’ve taken up enough of Elsie’s time. I’ll be on my way.’

  ‘And where exactly are you going to go?’ Elsie’s look of outrage would have stopped a giant wombat in its tracks.

  ‘Why, home of course.’

  ‘Home for another beating.’

  A light flashed in the woman’s eyes as she tried to stretch her battered face into the semblance of a smile. ‘Yes, home. That’s the only good thing to come out of all of this. I have the place to myself. He’s gone.’

  ‘And good riddance, miserable sod. If you have any difficulties you come straight to me and we can see you right until you find some way of earning your keep. Go and have a word with Maisie.’

  ‘I’ll do that.’ She stood, a little wobbly, but with her back straight and her head held high she made her way to the door.

  ‘I apologise for taking your time. Goodbye.’

  ‘Don’t. I’m pleased to see the back of him
. Good for nothing lout.’ Elsie shook her head and tutted. ‘Poor woman.’

  There was no need for Roisin to ask any questions, she’d seen enough women sporting backhanders to recognise one, although the thought of it happening here, in Wollombi where she’d come to feel so sheltered, sent a shiver down her spine.

  ‘She’s well shot of him and lucky the house is hers to keep. Willed to her by her father. He can’t touch that since he didn’t bother to marry her.’

  ‘What will she do?’

  ‘Find herself a way of making some money. She hasn’t any children to worry about. That’s why I’ve sent her down to Maisie. See if she can use her. I’d have her here ’cept my Alfie wouldn’t have a bar of it. Says we’re not making enough as it is to keep another body.’

  Roisin sank down onto the stool, her elbows resting on the counter, her mind turning over and over. Could she employ the woman? Maybe for a few hours. Mrs Winchester’s dress would be paid for soon and then there was Lady Alice, and the money from Mrs Blackmore’s bed linen and the last of the three makeovers. A helping hand would give her more time, maybe not permanently, just for an hour here or there. Someone to set the fires, keep the parlour dusted and swept. She rubbed the ends of her fingers, easing the soreness from the use of the needle. ‘I might be able to give her some work.’

  Elsie’s head snapped up. ‘What kind of work?’

  ‘Nothing much, a bit of cleaning and work around the house. I came in to tell you that I had to turn down a job for a dress because I hadn’t the time to do it—for Lady Alice, Mrs Winchester’s friend.’ Probably better not to mention the corset. Some things should remain between a lady and her dressmaker.

  ‘Oh, my dear.’ Elsie threw her arms around her neck and enveloped her in an onion-flavoured hug. ‘I’m so pleased. I knew you would make a go of this.’

  ‘I might make a go of it, but not if I can’t find the time to do the work I’m offered. Even Ruan being at school hasn’t made a difference. There just aren’t enough hours in the day, or the night. What do you think? Is the girl trustworthy? She’d be in the house and I have Ruan to consider. I don’t want him to come to any harm.’

  ‘Jane’s a lovely girl. Lived in Wollombi all her life. Mother and father got one of the first grants here. When the smallpox took them and the two little ones she struck up with that no-hoper. I’ll go and fetch her. It’ll save Maisie having to say no. Maisie doesn’t like that.’

  ‘I don’t know if I can afford to employ her full time, maybe just for an hour or so a day.’

  ‘We’ll see. We’ll see. You stay here for a while and watch the store for me. Have a look in that box over there. I think there may be a few silks left. Not sure the colours will be right though. You’ve had all the delicate ones.’

  Elsie untied her apron and threw it on the counter.

  ‘Just before you go, Elsie. Can you tell me where I can get some carded fleece?’

  ‘Fleece? You mean sheep’s wool? Need to talk to Bob down at the wool store on the other side of the Millpond. What d’you want that for?’

  ‘A little idea I have, that’s all.’ Elsie had no need to know what she intended to do with the fleece. It would be a secret she’d share only with Lady Alice.

  ‘That all?’ Elsie patted down her misshapen curls and adjusted her mob-cap.

  ‘Yes that’s all, thank you.’

  ‘Back in a jiffy. You have a gander at them silks.’

  The box of Indian silks was nearly empty and the only colours left were bright reds, a black and a blue, the colour of the feathers on a kookaburra’s wing. She lifted them out of the box and took them to the door where the light was better. For the kind of work she’d done in Sydney these colours would be perfect. Somehow she couldn’t see them suiting the mousey Lady Alice.

  Maybe matched with a little lace—if she had some. So frustrating. Opportunities slipping through her fingers. Time. She needed time. Perhaps she could unpick something from one of her own corsets. It would need to match Lady Alice’s dress and she wouldn’t know until tomorrow what that would be. She’d need the padding without a doubt. Some carded lamb’s wool. From Bob at the wool store, Elsie had said.

  ‘Find what you wanted?’

  ‘Elsie, I’m not sure. Possibly. May I take these and let you know tomorrow?’

  ‘Of course, of course. You earned your favour. You’ve made Jane very happy. She’s gone home to change and clean herself up and she’ll be back to see you after dinner.’

  ‘I hope I won’t disappoint her.’

  ‘You won’t. You need to have a bit more faith in yourself, young lady. With customers the likes of the Winchesters and their friends you’re going to be in great demand. Only right and proper you should have a bit of help. And Jane’s handy with a needle, too.’

  With Elsie’s words ringing in her ears Roisin went back home. She lifted the lid of the trunk and emptied out every scrap of material, lace, buttons and ribbons she could find and lay them out on the table, grouping them in colours. Creams through to yellows and oranges. Then the deep, deep red of plums to morning sunrises and blues through to the green she loved so much.

  Her charcoal flew over the paper as she sketched a corset set with ribbon and pearl buttons. Oh how she needed to see Lady Alice’s dress. Why hadn’t she asked more about it? The colour was all-important, and the neckline. Her mind was such a mess of ideas, jumbled like the contents of the trunk.

  When a knock sounded on the door she straightened her back and stretched. ‘Come in. It’s open.’

  A straw bonnet appeared around the door. ‘It’s Jane, Mrs Ogilvie. Elsie said I should come and see you after dinner.’

  Was it really after dinner? How much time had she wasted sitting here with her knick-knacks and charcoal? She was as bad as Ruan and his treasure box. ‘Come in, Jane.’ She stood up and gestured at the table. ‘I’m sorry about the mess, I’ve been trying to sort out my materials. I’m running low.’

  Jane drifted to the table, her eyes set on the display in front of her. She reached out a tentative hand and smoothed it over a tiny piece of silk lace. ‘Oh, this is lovely.’ She picked it up and turned it over. ‘See how carefully the tatting has been finished. Did you make this?’

  ‘Me?’ How she wished. ‘No. I bought it in Sydney.’

  Jane placed it back on the table with a reverence. ‘And this one, see? I like the cotton lace. It looks so very pretty on a blouse, around the neck. Nice and fresh like.’

  A stillness came over Roisin as Jane edged around the table, her fingers touching and smoothing, her breath a gentle sigh when she picked up something she liked.

  ‘Jane? Do you know about these materials?’

  ‘Me? No, Miss I’ve never seen the likes of these ribbons. Mémé, my grandmother, she was French, she taught me the tatting. I never had the time to do much. My pa thought it a waste of time. All right for a lady’s pastime, not for the likes of me. I’m sorry, Miss. I’m wasting your time. Elsie said you might have some work for me. I can turn my hand to most things. Cooking. Cleaning. I like gardening, too, me mam said I’ve got green fingers, and I could keep an eye on the boy.’

  ‘I’ll be honest with you, Jane. I won’t be able to pay you very much and I don’t know how much work I’ll need done. It depends on my business and how many orders I have. How busy I am.’

  ‘Yes, I know, Miss. Elsie told me. I’d love to work for you. Better than the pub, and besides, Maisie didn’t really want me. Just helping me out because she knew me mam. God rest her soul.’ Jane crossed herself. ‘And I won’t be takin’ no charity. I’ll earn me keep.’

  Roisin found herself taking to the girl. She seemed so free of artifice. She liked her. ‘How about we make a deal. Start tomorrow morning. Come early because I have an appointment at nine and I’ll show you around.’

  ‘I could stay now, Miss, if you’re busy. I haven’t anything else to do with Mick gone.’

  ‘Mick? Your husband?’

  ‘As g
ood as, Miss. And between you and me, good riddance.’ Her eyes flashed again and she fingered the bruise on her face, her defiance endearing. ‘He reckons there’s money in the goldfields. Been talking to that Mr Hargreaves. He’s gone off and I don’t expect to see him back. He went, taking everything with him. Would have taken the house, too if he could’ve picked it up and carried it.’

  ‘In that case why not stay. I haven’t had anything to eat. There’s some soup on the stove and a cup of tea would help.’

  Sitting in the parlour with the winter sun streaming in the window and the fire glowing in the grate, Roisin let out a sigh of pleasure and took the remaining pins out of the hem of Mrs Winchester’s dress. She stood and shook it out, pleased with the result, then hung it in the corner of the room.

  ‘Oh, Miss, that’s just lovely.’ Jane appeared at the door with a pot of tea and a plate of biscuits. ‘I thought you could be doing with a cup of tea. You’ve been sitting here all afternoon.’

  ‘It’s time you went home, Jane. I’m sorry I forgot the time. Ruan will be home soon and …’

  ‘He’s already home, Miss. He helped me make the biscuits. He’s in the kitchen practising his letters.’ Roisin peered out of the window; the sun hung low in the red-tinted sky. How had the time flown by so quickly?

  ‘I’ve peeled some potatoes and put the bones in with some carrots and onions. You didn’t have any.’ Jane flushed. ‘I nipped back to my garden and brought them from there. Mick took what was in the store but not the things still in the ground. Doesn’t like to get his hands dirty. Don’t know how he’ll manage digging for gold.’

  ‘Jane, you’re a godsend.’

  ‘You sit down, Miss, and drink your tea. I also brought something else from home to show you. May I get it?’ She set the tray down on the table and poured a cup of tea.

  Mystified, Roisin nodded.

  ‘Drink your tea now. I’ll be back in a moment.’