Daughter of Australia

by Harmony Verna

  “You’re not wearing that!” Eleanor scolded when she saw Leonora coming down the stairs. “We’re donating a wing, not taking the nurses to tea. Wear something patriotic.”

  Leonora changed, met back at the stairs for the next round of editing.

  Her aunt glanced at the dress. “That’ll do.”

  The black Rolls idled in the drive as the chauffeur held open the door. “Have you heard from Mr. Fairfield?” Eleanor asked as she bristled past the servant.

  “No, ma’am.”

  “He was supposed to come in yesterday.” She grimaced. “Just like him.” The door closed, the women settled into seats. “Your uncle’s as stubborn as a badger. Every sane man is scrambling to get out of Europe and Owen is digging his toes in the bloody soil. Now I’ve got to do the whole ceremony myself.” Eleanor rubbed her long neck, stuck out her chin. “I’ve half a mind to change the locks. Let him stew in the stables for a bit.”

  Leonora slanted against the door, tried not to attract more attention than necessary. She knew the anger would spill her way at any moment.

  Mrs. Fairfield picked at the graying hair above her ears, tucking in strands that were already well tucked. “The Post-Gazette will be covering the story. Try not to clam up.” She waved her hand. “Don’t say too much, of course. Just that we support our allies—the importance of doing our part—you understand?”

  This was the opening Leonora was waiting for, but as she opened her mouth to speak her throat closed. She lowered her head in defeat. “Yes, ma’am.”

  Eleanor scanned her. “You were going to say something. What was it?”

  There was no escape. A blush rose to Leonora’s face as she stammered to form a coherent word under her aunt’s gaze. “I-I-I’m . . . I . . .”

  “Speak, for God’s sake!”

  Anger suddenly eclipsed the fear and Leonora met her gaze, swallowed hard. “I want to go to nursing school.”

  Eleanor laughed. “Yes, yes, Owen told me all about your little idea. He thought it as stupid as I did. We both had a good laugh actually.”

  The slap was instant, a sting without touch. “That’s not true.” The anger and disbelief swirled in her mind. “He said he supported my decision. He . . . he said he would think about it.”

  “Have you learned nothing about my husband over these years, Leonora? Owen says whatever serves him at the moment. He would tell you the sky was green just to make you smile.” Then, under her breath, she murmured with a hint of jealousy, “Pathetic.

  “Nursing school is out of the question. No woman with the Fairfield name will be working like a paid servant. A nurse is nothing more than a maid to a sick person.” Eleanor leaned forward to examine her reflection in the driver’s mirror. “The answer is ‘no’ and I expect never to hear it brought up again.”

  Leonora held her tears at bay, forced them with sheer will to stay down. “But I’m nearly done with my studies. What would you have me do?”

  “You’ll marry into a good family and have lots of babies and happy memories!” she spit sarcastically. “Now enough of this chatter.” She shook her head like she had an itch and rubbed her throat. “We’ll be at the hospital soon and you’re all red and agitated. That’s not the way to make a first impression, especially with the press.” The woman’s fingers scratched at her throat again. “Of course, who’s to say what sort of reception we’ll get after you scorned Dr. Edwards. My God, Leonora, the man only asked you to dinner.”

  Leonora turned to the window. The scorn was a polite refusal to the forty-year-old board director whose eyes never looked above her breasts.

  Eleanor settled into her lace collar and relaxed. “Well, at any rate, the hospital is not the place to meet a husband. Trust me. Half the doctors will be shipped out soon and the ones who are left are too old or inept.”

  The car descended into the city, the buildings dripping with varying levels of black and gray, a mirror of Leonora’s heart. The conversation, the hope, was smashed. All that was left was the urge to cry, to disappear, to melt into nothing even as she was squaring her shoulders for the latest Fairfield function.

  The driver pulled to the entrance of the hospital and helped the women out to the sidewalk to the awaiting swarm of businessmen and government officials turned out for the ceremony, not out of support for the new wing, as it was not as grand as some others, but out of fear of losing favor with a family such as the Fairfields through absence.

  As the photographers set up tripods and held flashes high in the air, the men pushed comically against one another lest they get cut from the frame and have no record of attendance. They fought to shake Mrs. Fairfield’s hand, to promise future social dates and gush what a lovely young woman her niece had become. Leonora nodded and smiled, shook hands, let the compliments and praise fade into the pitch of voices like a foreign language.

  After the crowd dispersed and their vision speckled with camera flashes, the doctors escorted the women to the new wing, touring between aisles of steel beds, sheeted in white, half-opened in crisp triangles below propped pillows.

  “The war should be over long before America sends a man.” Dr. Edwards spoke confidently to Leonora’s bosom. “However, it’s important to be prepared,” he continued to Mrs. Fairfield’s neck. “Besides, the English hospitals are overflowing.”

  “We must do everything we can to support our allies,” recited Mrs. Fairfield.

  The reporter from the Gazette scribbled down every word but paused to look at Leonora. He was a little older than she, a thin pencil mustache above his lip. “And you, miss, is there anything you’d like to add?”

  She lowered her head.

  Mrs. Fairfield narrowed her eyes. “My niece was just mentioning how important it is for the younger generation to see beyond themselves to the higher good of the masses.”

  “Ah,” said the reporter as he kept his eyes glued on Leonora. “So, philanthropy runs in the family. Do you plan on volunteering here at the hospital?”

  Just then the cage door opened and bird wings flapped in her stomach. “Yes,” she almost shouted. The group stopped. Eleanor’s eyes grew to saucers.

  The wings flapped louder in Leonora’s throat. “Yes. I’d like to volunteer—to work here. Anything to help.” The voice that came out shocked her with its boldness.

  “Wonderful news,” said Dr. Edwards as he scanned her hips. “We’d be pleased to have you. We’ll set you up with the Red Cross. When would you like to start?”

  “Tomorrow.” The word tumbled out. Mrs. Fairfield closed her eyes for a moment, her jaw clenched and rigid below the high cheekbones.

  The reporter wrote down every word, his tongue peeking out the corner of his mouth. “Great way to round out the piece—one family making a difference in big and small ways.”

  Leonora’s aunt did not speak for the rest of the tour, only nodded politely at Dr. Edwards’s directives. But Leonora could hardly contain her joy and looked upon the white walls, the linoleum floor and echoing halls as trails to freedom.

  After lunch, the driver pulled the car to the sidewalk. The Fairfield ladies presented their hands for the round of cold lips and many thanks.

  “We’ll see you tomorrow, Leonora,” said Dr. Edwards with a wink.

  “Yes. Thank you.”

  Dr. Edwards closed the car door, shutting out the noise from the city and magnifying the space between Leonora and her aunt. Leonora kept her gaze cemented to the window as the car turned into the street, her aunt’s eyes burning her skin.

  “You must feel pretty proud of yourself,” Eleanor began, tugging at each finger until her gloves sat folded on her lap like a second pair of hands.

  Leonora waited for the rug to be pulled.

  “I admit, I didn’t think you had initiative. I’m not sure whether I should be angry or proud.” The woman cocked her head, inspected her. “Of course, watching you stand up for yourself is a bit like watching a blind man cross the street. Pitiful, actually.”

  The f
lutters died and the cage locked.

  “However, I’m going to allow it.”

  Leonora’s head snapped up.

  “I don’t have to,” her aunt corrected. “I could easily find an excuse as to why you’re needed at home. But I’ve decided not to fight you on this one.” She rolled her eyes. “Why you’d want to spend time in that place is beyond me, but that’s neither here nor there.”

  Leonora savored her fortune, tried to keep the excitement from showing, but her aunt saw it like blinking lights. “A note of warning, Leonora. I’ve indulged you this time. If you ever pull a stunt like that again, it will not end in your favor. I suggest you don’t try to test me.

  “Look at me.” Eleanor tapped her roughly on the knee. “You don’t talk to anyone, understand? Do your work, roll bandages or whatever nonsensical job they have you do, and that’s it. You’ll need to make up your studies in the evening. Are we clear?”

  “Yes, ma’am.”

  Mrs. Fairfield’s fingers tapped on her purse as they passed the first gate to the estate drive. “Knowing you, you’ll fall in love with some crippled soldier. Just like you try to save those mangy alley dogs.” Her disgust suddenly shifted and her body shot upright as if someone pulled her hair. She peered over the driver’s shoulder. “Owen’s home.”

  Eleanor tossed her purse and coat to the maid and walked briskly toward clinking glasses in the library. Leonora took her time removing her coat before following.

  “You’re late!” her aunt scolded, the reprimand too clouded in relief to be terse. “We expected you yesterday.”

  Owen Fairfield kissed his wife on the cheek while juggling a cigar in one hand and an amber drink in the other. “The time change, dear. Always takes me by surprise.”

  She rolled her eyes. “Time change!” she huffed. “You’re a man who lives by the world’s clock. Nothing takes you by surprise.”

  He smiled and kissed her on the forehead. “Ah, I’ve missed you, my love.”

  Just then Eleanor noticed the man leaning leisurely at the bar. She rubbed her hands down her hips. “I didn’t realize we had a guest.” Leonora followed her aunt’s gaze. Her breath caught.

  The man stepped forward and Owen placed a hand to his shoulder. “Ladies, I’d like to introduce you to Alexander Harrington.”

  Alex took Eleanor’s hand and brought it to his lips, her eyebrows rising oddly. “Good evening, Mrs. Fairfield,” he greeted. The young man turned to Leonora, inched close, picked up her hand and kissed it, his lips lingering and soft against her knuckles, sending goose bumps across her arms and up her legs. “Hello, Leonora.” He dropped her hand and slid his eyes over her figure. “It’s a true pleasure.”

  Eleanor Fairfield watched the interaction with growing enthusiasm, her lips twitching into an inexperienced smile. Owen squeezed the young man’s shoulder again and announced, “Alex has been managing our mine in Bombay.”

  A maid brought white wine on a silver tray. Eleanor shoved a glass into Leonora’s hand, prodded her to drink, then turned back to their guest. “And how are you finding India?”

  “Hot.” Alex smiled, revealing rows of white, straight teeth. “Depending on the time of year, it can be wet or dry, but always hot.” He smirked, his lips well formed and sensual. “India’s hard as she is beautiful. Not another place on the earth like it. Thanks to the British, I can still enjoy some normal comforts. Of course, everything’s scarce with the war.”

  “You won’t be returning anytime soon, I hope?” Eleanor asked coyly.

  “That’s up to your husband.”

  Eleanor dangled her glass between two long fingers, cocked her head. “How old are you, Mr. Harrington?”

  “Twenty-seven.”

  She ran her finger along the rim of the glass, the wine making her amused, her eyes skeptical.

  Alex crossed his arms and returned the look, unflinching. “By your expression, Mrs. Fairfield, you’re either impressed or troubled. I can’t tell which.”

  “Both, actually.” She smiled. “I’m impressed by your ambition. However, I’m disappointed in my husband.”

  Owen raised his eyebrows against the accusation. “And what have I done?”

  “To waste such a handsome and charming man in the pits of Bombay!”

  Alex was startlingly handsome. He stood a full head taller than Leonora’s uncle, even taller than her aunt by several inches. In his winged collar and ascot his skin was smooth with a hint of tan, his dark hair upswept and rugged, almost windblown, adding a casualness to his form.

  “It’s not like he’s picking rock, darling!” Owen scoffed, then conceded with a bow, “I promise to have you assess the physical attributes of all my workers from now on.”

  Alex turned to Leonora, his eyes falling on the scoop of her dress. She stretched the fabric to her neck before catching her aunt’s scowl. Eleanor motioned to the maid to refill Leonora’s wineglass and then addressed her husband: “Your niece has decided to volunteer at the hospital.” The statement sounded strangely like a compliment.

  “Is that so?”

  “What sort of work will you be doing, Miss Fairfield?” Alex asked, his dark, nearly black eyes holding her face.

  “I’m not sure,” Leonora answered. His gaze became too strong and her face heated. His lips curved to a grin and she was grateful when the maid stepped between them.

  Owen raised his empty glass. “Scotch, please.”

  “Not before dinner, Owen!” Eleanor ordered.

  He ignored her. “Alex, will you join me?”

  “Not if it displeases the lady.” The young man’s tone rang with authority and Leonora was amazed. Governors and business moguls alike kowtowed to the Fairfields and here was this man with unsettled hair who did not pluck a word or stall in self-consciousness.

  “Actually, I think the evening calls for champagne,” Eleanor decided. “Mr. Harrington has put me in a celebratory mood.” And indeed, his presence had a joviality about it. Usually evenings were indigestible, choked between excruciating silence and nagging quips. But tonight there was levity and Eleanor Fairfield bubbled subtly like the champagne now uncorked.

  “A toast!” Eleanor raised her glass. “To my husband’s homecoming, to our guest, Mr. Harrington, and, of course, to our country!”

  Leonora drank her champagne, felt the effervescence tickle against her tongue, felt it blend with the white wine already in her stomach, and she found herself flush with gratitude. Tonight brought the banter of her uncle’s relaxed speech. Tonight brought a man who drew her aunt’s attention away from Leonora’s shortcomings. And tomorrow the hospital, freedom from the confines of the house. Tonight there was air. Leonora could breathe, really breathe, this evening, and she turned to Alex and smiled without realizing it—her smile unwavering this time, simply grateful. He raised an eyebrow and his dark eyes danced over her features.

  Eleanor Fairfield relaxed into the alcohol, her face loosening, almost pretty. “So tell me, Mr. Harrington, what line of work is your family in?”

  “Banking. Investment firms. Commodities. That sort of thing.”

  “And how’s business?”

  Owen sucked on an ice cube. “My wife wants to know if you’re rich.”

  Alex laughed. “Working for your husband, no. No disrespect, of course.”

  “None taken.” Owen patted him on the back, then eyed his wife. “Now leave the young man alone, dear.”

  “It’s all right,” said Alex. “I have no qualms about talking money. In fact, I admire her frankness. Most people try to find a man’s story by his manner or dress or education, or by gossip. I appreciate the forfeiting of games—it makes for a much more interesting and honest evening, I think. Besides, I take no pride in the wealth of my family, just as I’m not ashamed of my own lack of it.” Alex leaned casually, his body inching closer to Leonora’s. “My father passed when I was quite young; my mother a few years ago. My stepfather is a rich man, it’s true, and money has been set aside for me if I need it
. But I don’t need it, nor will I ever use it.” His whole figure shifted and tensed, his eyes hard and steady. “I intend to be a very rich man, but plan on earning every penny myself.” He grinned arrogantly. “That’s why I feel so fortunate Mr. Fairfield has taken me under his wing. I’m learning from the best.”

  “Nothing you don’t deserve.” Owen spoke between bites of ice. “Productivity magnifies around you. Don’t know how you do it. Could teach me a few tricks at this point.” He plopped another scotch-soaked cube in his mouth. “That’s why I’m bringing him to the mills. Want him to see where all that ore is going.”

  “I hope that means you’ll be staying here,” Eleanor insisted.

  “I don’t want to impose.”

  “Nonsense. We certainly have the room.” She turned to Leonora and clicked her teeth with her tongue. “Don’t we?”

  “Then I’d be honored. I expect we’ll be seeing quite a lot of each other.” Alex grinned at Leonora, his comment singularly defined.

  Eleanor nodded with slit, glowing eyes. She took Owen’s drink out of his hand. “Come check on dinner with me.”

  “I’m sure the cooks have it covered, dear.”

  Eleanor rolled her eyes, pulled her husband’s hand, tilted her head toward the young people. Leonora blushed hotly and lowered her eyes to her hands, tried to sink through the carpet.

  Alex reached into his jacket pocket and brought out a small silver case, flicking it open with his thumb. He displayed the line of cigarettes. “Do you smoke?” She shook her head and twisted her hands.

  “Good.” He took out a cigarette, smacked it twice against the silver and put it in his mouth, shoving the case back in his pocket. “I find it unladylike.” He cupped his hand away and lit the tip, sucked in, shrugged. “I’m old-fashioned that way.”

  They were quiet for several minutes. He peeked at her. “You aren’t going to have your aunt throw me out for smoking, are you?”