The River Charm

by Belinda Murrell

  ‘Goodnight, Mr Cummings,’ Charlotte replied.

  Kitty was all agog when they went upstairs to sleep.

  ‘It’s nearly dawn,’ Charlotte exclaimed in astonishment, seeing a streak of pink on the eastern horizon through the bedroom window.

  ‘Did you give Mr Cummings a flower from your hair?’ demanded Kitty as she kicked off her dancing pumps and massaged her aching feet.

  ‘It was falling out,’ Charlotte explained, examining her tousled hair in the mirror.

  ‘The Cummings family is very wealthy,’ said Kitty. ‘His father has run a number of very successful coffee houses and inns catering to the gentry. Alex told me that Will Cummings is taking the business over from his father.’

  Charlotte shrugged as she began to pull the pins from her hair. ‘Mr Cummings seems most pleasant.’

  ‘I think he likes you,’ said Kitty. ‘Greatly.’

  ‘Nonsense,’ retorted Charlotte, her face feeling warm. ‘Don’t be foolish, Kitty. He was merely being polite.’

  ‘He didn’t ask me for my gardenias,’ Kitty observed with a roguish smile. ‘What were you talking about?’

  Charlotte began to unbutton her dress with difficulty. ‘He asked if we might both like to join a boating party he is organising,’ she replied nonchalantly. ‘And he asked me if I like to ride.’

  Kitty laughed, pretending to swoon on the bed. ‘I told you he liked you . . .’

  24

  William Cummings

  The boating trip was followed by a riding expedition to Bondi Beach. Alex Curlewis drove an open carriage with three young ladies from school – Kitty, Ettie and Blanche, who were all dressed in wide-skirted summer dresses. The accompanying gentlemen rode on horseback, with Will Cummings leading a pretty chestnut mare by the reins. Will knocked on the front door to collect Charlotte.

  Charlotte greeted him wearing a dark-blue riding habit with a fitted jacket, full skirts and a white lace cravat. A black straw hat sat perched on top of her piled hair.

  ‘Good morning, Mr Cummings,’ said Charlotte, shaking his hand.

  Samson sniffed at the visitor then wagged his tail. Will ruffled Samson’s ears.

  ‘Good morning, Miss Atkinson,’ he replied with a bow. ‘Are you sure you would like to ride with me? If not, the ladies can make room for you in the carriage.’

  Charlotte examined the chestnut mare with longing. ‘Nothing on earth would induce me to ride in the staid old carriage,’ she assured him. ‘I have been longing for a good gallop.’

  Will laughed. ‘Her name is Amber and my father bought her for my sister, but alas Harriet is more interested in shopping and balls than riding these days. I brought her with me up from Liverpool.’

  Mamma came to the door to meet Will and greet the rest of the party. She carried a large wicker basket. The smell of hot pastry wafted from inside, mixed with the sweet scents of cinnamon, nutmeg and caramelised brown sugar.

  ‘Is there room in the carriage for this?’ Mamma asked. ‘Charlotte and I have baked some apple tarts for your picnic.’

  ‘My favourite,’ said Will, taking the basket and stowing it on the floor of the carriage. ‘Now, Miss Atkinson, may I help you up?’ Will offered her his hand and led her to the mare.

  Charlotte was more than capable of mounting the chestnut mare herself, but Will treated her like a precious porcelain doll, holding the horse’s reins and fussing over her as she stepped up on the mounting block. Charlotte delighted in the thrill of being on horseback again. The mare cavorted under her weight, arching her neck and tossing her head.

  The carriage pulled out with the girls giggling and waving goodbye to Mamma and Emily on the verandah. The men trotted along behind, conversing cheerfully.

  ‘Shall we go for a little trot?’ asked Will, gesturing to the group of riders on the dusty road ahead.

  ‘A trot?’ asked Charlotte. ‘How about a good gallop?’

  ‘I don’t think that would be wise,’ began Will. ‘You haven’t ridden for a while and the mare has not been mounted with a side-saddle lately –’

  Charlotte was impatient. She longed to feel the wind whipping through her hair and the ground thrumming beneath her horse’s hooves. She longed to feel like she could fly. Charlotte used her crop to urge the chestnut mare into a trot and then a rolling canter.

  The mare responded beautifully. Charlotte overtook the gallant riders and the carriage of fluttering butterflies. The dirt track stretched before her, winding its way out of the village and into the bushland. To her left, labourers were working on building a huge mansion on the foreshore overlooking the dazzling blue harbour. Charlotte clicked her tongue and leant forward, kicking her heels into Amber’s side.

  Amber responded by breaking into a flying gallop. The green-grey trees blurred by. A kookaburra laughed raucously on a nearby branch. The blue sky soared overhead. Charlotte could hear the sound of Will charging behind her. She remembered the heart-pounding adventures on Ophelia at Oldbury, with Emily on her gentler horse, Clarie.

  The two riders galloped on for a few miles, leaving the carriage and its escort far behind. A fallen tree lay to the side of the road in a clearing. Charlotte veered right so Amber could sail over the jump.

  Amber was slowing, her sides heaving and her neck slick with sweat, so Charlotte eventually pulled her up into a walk, with Will beside her.

  Charlotte laughed out loud. ‘That was wonderful.’

  Will laughed too. He looked at Charlotte. Her cheeks glowed and her hair had escaped its pins to tumble down her back.

  ‘I was expecting a sedate ride, like the ones I take in the park with my sister, Harriet,’ said Will. ‘She never goes above a walk because it might ruin the fall of her perfectly tailored riding habit. I am there as an escort to beat off the crowds of admiring young gentlemen.’

  Charlotte tossed her head. ‘That sounds terribly tedious,’ she confessed. ‘There is nothing better than a gallop through the bush. When we lived at Budgong we would go for the most wonderful rides over the mountain and down to the sea.’

  ‘Was that far?’ asked Will in surprise.

  ‘It was about thirty miles, but it was through thick wilder­ness, over the high ridges and across several rivers. It would take two days each way, so we’d camp out in the bush.’

  ‘That sounds like rather more of an adventure than our ride to the beach today,’ Will replied.

  ‘Yes, but I haven’t ridden for so long that this is heavenly.’ Charlotte leant her head back and closed her eyes so the sun could shine on her face.

  ‘Do you like riding Amber?’ asked Will.

  ‘I still miss my own mare, Ophelia,’ admitted Charlotte. ‘But Amber is a lovely horse. Thank you for letting me ride her.’

  ‘It is absolutely my pleasure,’ replied Will with a warm grin, doffing his hat in salute. They chatted on about Will’s involvement in his father’s business and discussed plans for another riding expedition over to the North Shore.

  They paused at the top of the hill. As far as the eye could see, the wide blue ocean rippled like silk. Down below was a deserted crescent of white sand fringed with thick green bush and white breakers foaming on the shore. The air smelt of salt and seaweed and the tang of eucalyptus oil.

  ‘Bondi Beach,’ announced Will.

  ‘Mamma used to bring us here often when we lived at Double Bay,’ said Charlotte. ‘I remember finding an enormous squid washed up on the shore, just over there. It was still alive and thrashed about violently.’

  The remainder of the party was far behind them, so Charlotte and Will rode along the beach, splashing through the waves and cantering along the hard, wet sand. When they returned, the other horses were tethered under the shade of a tree while Alex and Kitty were unpacking the picnic baskets from the carriage.

  ‘Where are the others?’ Will asked as he dismo
unted.

  Kitty gestured to a track that wound up through the bush towards the headland. ‘Walking out to admire the view. However, I think the view is perfectly fine from here.’

  ‘It is a charming walk to the headland,’ said Charlotte, shading her eyes with her gloved hand.

  ‘I’ll tend to the horses,’ suggested Will. ‘Why don’t you set off and I’ll catch up with you in a minute.’

  Charlotte nodded and Will lifted her down from the saddle. She flushed at the closeness of his touch. Picking up her skirts, she set off, her boots sinking in the thick sand. It was easier going on the harder track through the bush. Charlotte heard voices ahead and paused to listen.

  ‘Did you see how Charlotte was flirting with Mr Cummings?’ Charlotte recognised Ettie’s voice and froze. ‘Galloping off like that, forcing poor Mr Cummings to chase her. He must think her a complete hoyden.’

  ‘It wasn’t very ladylike,’ agreed Blanche. Charlotte felt a lump swell in her throat. She felt sick. She had thought Blanche was one of her friends.

  ‘Gentlemen don’t like girls who behave in that fashion,’ continued Ettie, her tone increasingly spiteful. ‘He may flirt with her, but Mr Cummings would never marry her. Mother always says gentlemen prefer their ladies to be demure and well bred.’

  ‘Charlotte’s very clever, though,’ added Blanche. ‘She was dux of the school and her drawing is just marvellous.’

  ‘Clever?’ sneered Ettie. ‘She’s just a show-off. She was always trying to be top of everything. Her mother has some odd notions about educating girls. Gentlemen don’t like ladies to be more clever than they are.

  ‘You mark my words: Mr Cummings will toy with her for a few weeks then abandon her for a more appealing prospect. Mr Cummings comes from a wealthy family who won’t want him to throw himself away on an impoverished girl.’

  Charlotte turned and hurried away silently, her eyes blinded with angry tears. She had not gone far when she met Will, who was striding towards her.

  ‘Miss Atkinson, are you all right?’ he asked. ‘You look distressed.’

  Charlotte groped in her pocket for a handkerchief. ‘Thank you, I’m fine,’ she said, smiling tightly. ‘Just some pollen making me sneeze.’

  Will rummaged in his coat pocket and pulled out a fine linen handkerchief embroidered with his initials, which he presented to her with a flourishing bow.

  Charlotte took it and dabbed her nose.

  ‘Shall we go back to the beach?’ asked Will, gesturing back up the track. ‘It looks like the ladies have had enough of admiring the view.’

  Charlotte glanced over her shoulder at Ettie and Blanche strolling towards them. Ettie began waving madly and urging Blanche to walk faster. Charlotte walked away hurriedly. Will followed, teasing and chatting and cajoling, trying to cheer Charlotte up as they strode along.

  It was impossible to avoid Ettie and Blanche back at the camp site. Kitty and Alex had spread out blankets on the sand, set out the picnic baskets and lit a campfire. The other two gentlemen followed a few minutes later. Charlotte made tea in the quart pot, keen to busy herself so she needn’t talk, pouring it into tin mugs.

  ‘Why, Charlotte, your hair has come all undone,’ cooed Ettie, twisting one gloved finger through her own perfectly curled red ringlets. ‘Do you not think, Mr Cummings, that Miss Atkinson looks like a gypsy with her flashing black eyes and black hair? I quite expect her to start telling our fortunes from the tea leaves.’

  Everyone looked at Charlotte as she fumbled with her pins, trying to tuck up the flyaway curls.

  ‘Let me help you,’ offered Kitty, taking the pins and moving behind Charlotte.

  ‘I think Miss Atkinson looks most becoming,’ said Will with a smile. ‘I hope she does tell my fortune.’ Will peered into the bottom of his tin mug, frowning with concentration.

  ‘Ah, you vill meet de gorgeous young lady,’ predicted Will, putting on a thick Slavic accent. ‘She vill fall deeply in love vith you – because you are so handsome and vitty. She will have de thick black hair and de beautiful black eyes –’

  Charlotte took the mug from Will. ‘No,’ she disagreed, peering into the tea leaves. ‘It quite clearly says that you will meet a prim young lady from a wealthy family. Her mother will be a tyrant and her father a business tycoon. She will seem sweet and demure but will really be a spiteful cat. You will have eight children and be miserable, but at least you will be respectable.’

  Charlotte smiled sweetly and handed back the mug.

  ‘Good God, I hope not,’ exclaimed Will. ‘Please don’t sentence me to such a dreadful existence.’

  Ettie pouted then quickly changed her expression into an arch smile. ‘Why, Charlotte – do you think respectability is such a curse?’

  ‘Not at all, but perhaps it would be better to be an impoverished gypsy than a spiteful cat?’

  Kitty and Blanche giggled and Ettie had the grace to look ashamed.

  The summer was a whirlwind of social engagements – picnics, balls, tea parties, boating expeditions and weekly rides on Amber, accompanied by Will. For Charlotte, it was a complete change from her usual family life of study and chores.

  In February, Will’s mother and sister, Harriet, invited her to tea at their spacious villa in Liverpool. Will came to collect her for the two-hour drive in his father’s carriage, drawn by four matched horses. He was escorted by a coachman and attendant groom in their smart livery.

  Charlotte was wearing her best afternoon dress – a sprigged muslin with short, puffed sleeves over full petticoats. Will sat opposite Charlotte, his back to the horses, and chatted to her on the long, dusty drive.

  The Cummings’ villa was graceful and large, surrounded by landscaped gardens and orchards. Will went to discuss business with his father, while Charlotte was shown into the drawing room, with its spindly furniture, lace doilies and china knick-knacks. A large, gilded cage held a crimson parrot with blue-and-black speckled wings.

  Mrs Cummings and Harriet Cummings were seated in delicate armchairs covered in gold brocade. Harriet was much as Charlotte had imagined her – pretty, perfectly groomed and vacuous. Her mother was an older, stouter version of her daughter.

  ‘Miss Atkinson, how do you do?’ asked Harriet, shaking hands.

  ‘Quite well, thank you, Miss Cummings. And you?’

  The conversation covered the weather, the price of silk and the latest news from London on Queen Victoria and her two young children, Princess Victoria and Prince Albert Edward.

  ‘Tell me,’ began Mrs Cummings, pouring tea from a silver teapot into a delicate cup. ‘Now that you have finished at Miss Rennie’s school, what do you plan to do with yourself?’

  Charlotte paused, taking the tiny cup in her gloved hand. ‘I am thinking of gaining employment as a teacher. My mother was a governess before her marriage, and Miss Rennie has asked me to help with some of the younger students.’

  Mrs Cummings and her daughter exchanged quick glances.

  ‘Surely not, my dear,’ said Mrs Cummings, smiling kindly at Charlotte. ‘I have heard that your mother has some . . . unusual notions, but surely a young lady in your position will not seek paid employment. Harriet, for example, is on a committee of young ladies who organise regular balls, and she does seem to spend a lot of time shopping, much to her father’s chagrin when he receives the bills.’

  Mrs Cummings smiled fondly at her daughter.

  ‘I am not totally self-indulgent, Mother,’ complained Harriet, raising her eyebrows at Charlotte. ‘I do help with the church charities and have French and piano lessons. Although I must confess it is quite difficult to practise. I always seem to be so busy.

  ‘Actually, Miss Atkinson, I must introduce you to my darling dressmaker. She is an absolute treasure. She is quite up-to-the-minute with London fashions and has a gorgeous array of fabrics.’

  Harriet chec
ked over Charlotte’s dress, which Mamma and Charlotte had worked together to sew. Charlotte felt a flush of embarrassment mingled with annoyance rush through her. Suddenly the dress felt dowdy and plain, instead of fresh and pretty. She doubted very much that Mamma’s allowance could stretch to cover bills from Harriet’s dressmaker.

  Charlotte was relieved when Will joined them. He kissed his mother and sister on the cheek, and bowed over Charlotte’s proffered hand.

  ‘I hope my sister has not been boring you with details of her latest shopping adventure?’ joked Will, shooting a grin at Charlotte. ‘Apparently she was able to snap up a pair of darling kid gloves at half price yesterday.’

  Harriet pouted. ‘Don’t be ridiculous, Will. Don’t pretend that you know what ladies such as Miss Atkinson like to do.’

  Will smiled at Charlotte. ‘Of course I do,’ he retorted. ‘Miss Atkinson’s idea of an adventure is riding through the wilderness for days on end, sleeping on the ground with a saddle for a pillow and drinking tea out of a pannikin.’

  Mrs Cummings and Harriet glanced at Charlotte in dismay.

  ‘Good heavens,’ exclaimed Mrs Cummings. ‘I should sincerely hope not.’

  ‘Mamma, of course Will is only funning,’ replied Harriet. ‘As if Miss Atkinson would really do anything so . . . indecorous.’

  Charlotte smiled brightly. ‘By the way, Miss Cummings,’ she said, changing the subject. ‘I have been meaning to thank you very much for allowing me to ride your mare, Amber. She is a lovely horse, and I have enjoyed the opportunity to ride again. I hope you don’t mind that I have taken her out so often?’

  Harriet waved her hand languidly. ‘My pleasure. As Papa says, it is better someone rides her than she eats her head off in the stable all day. Although I do hope you don’t ride her above a slow trot – I would hate her to become too spirited.’

  ‘Indeed,’ Charlotte replied, sipping her tea and wishing she could escape home to her sketchbook.

  It was with great relief that the visit finally came to an end and Will offered to escort her home.