by Anna Jacobs
Matron finished talking to Mrs Southerham, who confirmed that she had indeed given Cassandra the money, then went to write a note to the Governor. She took Reece with her, because he was insisting on seeing Cassandra. ‘You can speak to her at the other end of the garden. I’ll send her out to you.’
Pandora waited anxiously. She found it hard to talk to Mrs Southerham about a job because she was hoping desperately that Reece would still love Cassandra and, in spite of what had happened, still want to marry her.
When she saw him stride round the corner of the Home with an agonised expression on his face and walk out into the street without even stopping to explain, her heart sank. She said a hasty farewell to Mrs Southerham and hurried back to their quarters to find her sister.
Cassandra was weeping.
‘Oh, love, what’s the matter?’
‘He walked away when I told him about the baby.’
Pandora had expected better of Reece, who had been a friend of the whole family back in Outham, who had courted Cassandra, but hadn’t been able to marry her because he was out of work since the mills had stopped for lack of cotton from America. ‘Then he’s not worth loving. You were raped. It wasn’t your fault.’
‘How do you stop loving someone? I told myself it wouldn’t be right to expect him to marry me, not now, but I hoped. I couldn’t help hoping.’
It was a while before Cassandra calmed down and took up her sewing again, but Pandora hated to see the bleak unhappiness on her face.
Things seemed to be getting worse since their arrival in Australia, not better.
Zachary walked slowly through the streets of Outham, his head spinning with information and excitement. As he entered Blake’s Emporium, Harry Prebble, who made everyone all too aware that he was now the temporary manager, looked up with a sour expression on his face and gestured to him to come into the back.
‘You’ve been away long enough, Carr.’
The two young men stared at one another, antagonism fairly humming between them. Harry might have been chosen to run the shop until the new owners could be brought back to Lancashire, but Zachary knew he was still jealous of the other being sent to Australia to fetch them home. And he’d always been resentful of Zachary’s extra inches. He was over six foot tall while Harry stood a bare five foot six.
The doorbell tinkled and Harry took a quick peep into the shop. ‘There’s Mrs Warrish. You’d better start serving now, Carr, and—’
‘Mr Featherworth says I’m to stop work immediately because I sail next week and there’s a lot to be done. He says you can take on other help while I’m gone. I’ll get my things and leave you to it.’
‘I need help now. I must say it’s very selfish of you. Didn’t you remind him it’s Friday, our busiest day?’
‘He and I were talking about the journey, not the shop.’
‘It’s all right for some!’
‘You have nothing to complain about. You’ve been appointed temporary manager, haven’t you?’ Zachary bit back further hot words, annoyed at himself for giving his feelings away. He’d have loved to run the shop, and after working there since the age of twelve, he was sure he’d do it just as well as Harry. Better, because Harry always fussed about details and ordered the same old goods, never looking at what was happening in the world, how people were changing and wanting to buy different things.
Railways had changed everything in the past twenty years and it was now possible to get foodstuffs from all over the world as easily as they’d got them from Manchester in the old days. Mr Blake had often talked about this and Harry had listened with an intent expression on his face, but the implications never seemed to sink in.
‘Well, don’t forget that you’ll be coming back to work under me.’
‘If you get the appointment as permanent shop manager. That’ll be up to the new owners.’
‘Who else could they appoint? I know everything about how this shop is run. Haven’t I worked here since I was twelve?’
‘We both have!’ And Zachary had been there for a year longer, actually.
‘Well, I’ll be able to prove my worth to Mr Featherworth while you’re gallivanting round the world, so the job’s as good as mine. Those nieces of Mr Blake’s are only mill girls, however intelligent they’re supposed to be. They’ll know nothing about running a shop, so they’re bound to turn to me for advice. I’ll make sure the profits rise while I’m in charge. That’s what will matter to them.’ He jutted his chin challengingly.
It wasn’t worth arguing, so Zachary went into the rear of the shop and took down his apron from the hook on the wall, retrieving his lunch box. You couldn’t afford to waste good food in troubled times like these. So many people in the cotton towns were going hungry for lack of work, thanks to the war in America stopping raw cotton getting through to the mills.
A year and a half ago, in 1862, Mr Blake had started providing food for his staff at midday and broken biscuits with their cups of tea at other breaks, knowing those still in employment were going short to help their hungry relatives and friends. But Harry had discontinued that practice as soon as he took over, not even providing cups of tea on the pretext that he didn’t dare be extravagant with someone else’s money. You’d think what he saved was going into his own pocket.
When he got back from Australia, if Harry was put in charge, Zachary intended to seek employment elsewhere, even if he had to move to another town to find it.
He left the shop and looked back at it thoughtfully. A huge plate glass window that had caused a sensation in the town twenty years previously when first installed, because it was so different from the small panes that all the other shops had. Tins and boxes were displayed there in carefully arranged piles. The words BLAKE’S EMPORIUM stood out in foot-high golden letters on a maroon ground above the shop window.
It must be wonderful to own such a business.
He felt sad as he passed a group of men loitering on a street corner, their clothes ragged and their faces gaunt with the years of hunger. He’d be eating well at the Featherworths’ that evening so on an impulse he shared the contents of his lunch box with them. Not much for each one, but something, and it broke his heart to see how carefully they divided the food, so that each would have the same amount.
Men like these were such a contrast to the more affluent customers who came into the shop. If only the war in America would end! People said the South was getting the worst of it now, but Zachary didn’t care who won. He just wanted the Americans to start sending cotton again. Without it, the mills of Lancashire stood silent, no smoke pouring from their chimneys, or only a trickle when they fired up the steam engines to keep them working properly. The clear sky still looked strange to him, because on fine days he was used to seeing smoke trails criss-crossing it.
Even the relief schemes that had been set up in the town couldn’t feed so many families adequately and that showed in people’s faces.
Zachary realised he’d stopped moving and clicked his tongue in exasperation at himself. Why was he loitering around daydreaming when he had a thousand things to organise for his adventure?
Although Reece came back to the Migrants’ Home the following day to apologise to Cassandra for walking out on her, she steadfastly refused to marry him.
Pandora watched them both from the shade of the tree where she had again taken refuge from the heat. They loved one another, she could tell. But although her sister had wept when Reece walked away from her, she said it only proved she was right to decide not to marry him. She didn’t want the child to be treated badly. Strange how protective Cassandra was to her unborn baby.
Maybe if I met someone I loved, I’d be able to settle down here more easily, Pandora thought. But she knew with a sick certainty that she wouldn’t. This place was . . . wrong for her. It wasn’t home. She found the heat particularly trying and her face felt raw with sweat. Even the nights were hot, though occasionally an afternoon sea breeze that locals called the ‘Fremantle Doctor’
brought a little relief for an hour or two.
She was getting better at hiding her misery, though, and was rather proud of that.
At the moment her best hope was to find a job near enough to her sisters to see them regularly. Reece’s employers, the Southerhams, had offered her a position as a maid of all work, and they were kind enough to say Cassandra could go too. But they couldn’t afford to pay two maids, so her sister would get only her keep.
It was a fair offer, probably as good as they were likely to get, given the circumstances, but Cassandra refused to accept it because Reece also worked for them.
Well, Pandora wasn’t leaving her sister on her own, not in that condition, not if she had to defy the Governor of the colony himself.
Later that day a man called Conn Largan turned up at the Migrants’ Home, offering jobs to the twins, caring for his invalid mother. They lived an hour’s drive away from the Southerhams, which was quite close, it seemed, in Australian terms.
In the end Pandora confronted Cassandra. ‘Working for the Southerhams is the only way we can all four stay together. You have to accept the job, whether Reece works there or not.’
And at last, because there truly was no other way to keep the family together, Cassandra gave in.
Pandora felt for her, they all did, but it was a relief to have their immediate future settled and to get away from the restrictions of the Migrants’ Home.
The week following the interview with Mr Featherworth passed in a blur of activity for Zachary. The tailor finished his new clothes with amazing speed, finer garments than he’d ever worn in his whole life.
He was also supplied with an incredible number of other clothes. There were a dozen beautiful shirts, some in lightweight materials like gauze cotton, because the weather was much hotter in Australia. Each one had three matching collars and there was a whole box of studs for attaching them to the shirts. There were also a dozen travelling shirts of flannel, a dozen cravats of various colours, several sets of braces, cotton drawers at half a crown a pair, under-vests at four shillings and sixpence each, and nightshirts at ten shillings each.
He was speechless at how much this must add up to and tried to protest to the clerk that he could manage with less.
‘Mr Featherworth has taken advice from those who’ve travelled overseas and this is the minimum number of garments you’ll need on such a long voyage, young man.’ Mr Dawson patted his shoulder. ‘There are those who take twice as many clothes with them.’
Zachary could only shake his head in wonderment. He didn’t tell anyone, but he was delighted to be so well turned out, for once. It was a struggle for him and his family to stay decently dressed on his wages alone. Normally his sister Hallie would have had a job too, at least until she got married, and her money would have been a big help in supporting their widowed mother. Because of the cotton famine, however, jobs were scarce and few families in Outham had more than one breadwinner.
But he remained concerned at how much this was costing the heirs. When Mr Dawson mentioned buying a trunk, Zachary felt comfortable enough with the lawyer’s clerk to make a suggestion of his own. ‘Why don’t we check the attics above the shop and see if there are any trunks or other items of luggage? There are all sorts of bits and pieces stored there. I’ve seen them when I’ve carried things up for Mr Blake.’
‘Very sensible idea, young man. We’ll go there at once.’
Harry came out of the rear of the shop to see what they were doing when they entered the living quarters. ‘Oh, it’s you!’
He’d known perfectly well who they were, was just being nosey, Zachary thought, saying nothing.
‘Carry on with your work, Prebble,’ Mr Dawson said, in a sharp tone that said he didn’t like Harry either. ‘This is none of your business.’
When the clerk turned away, Harry glared at him, then saw Zachary looking and went back into the shop. But his expression had been so inimical that Zachary couldn’t help worrying. Harry had a reputation for getting his own back on those who had upset him. He’d not be able to do much to a man like Mr Dawson, though, surely?
The attics were very dark and there was no gas lighting up here, so Zachary ran down to ask the maid for a lamp. ‘How are things going, Dot?’
She smiled at him. ‘It’s been really peaceful. I’m so glad Mr Featherworth has let me stay on. There. This is a good bright lamp.’
‘I’ll see to lighting it.’
She lingered to chat. ‘Mrs Rainey’s cousin is coming to live here soon. Miss Blair’s been ill but she’s a lot better now. She’s been to visit and seems a really nice lady. I’ll feel better to have some company.’ She lowered her voice and glanced over her shoulder. ‘Apart from him.’
‘Harry?’
She nodded. ‘He keeps coming in, saying he has to check that I’m doing my work properly. And he sits up in the sitting room sometimes after work. No one told me I’d have to answer to him.’
Amazed by what she’d told him, Zachary took the lamp up to the attic and with its help they soon found what they were seeking. ‘There!’ He pushed some boxes aside. ‘A trunk. It’s a little battered but I don’t mind that.’ He opened and shut it, finding all the hinges and locks in good working order. ‘I shall be happy to use this one and save some money.’
The clerk nodded his approval and went back to searching, finding a large portmanteau of scuffed leather under an old rug.
Zachary hesitated, wondering whether to interfere, then decided the poor little maid needed protection. ‘Dot was saying that Harry keeps coming in to check up on what she’s doing, and . . . he sits in the owner’s quarters after work sometimes.’
The clerk looked at him in surprise. ‘What happens with the maid or in the living quarters is no concern of his, none whatsoever. I’ll mention it to Mr Featherworth. No one need know you told me. You and Prebble will have to work together after you get back, so we don’t want to stir up bad blood between you. The Methodist Minister’s cousin is to move into the flat soon, partly because I don’t trust Prebble. He’s taken a few liberties since Mr Featherworth made him manager. Miss Blair will make sure everything is looked after properly and will do a complete inventory of the contents for us. It’s asking for trouble to leave a place with so many valuable things in it empty, especially in hard times like these.’
Harry came out again to watch sourly as Zachary and the shop lad carried the trunk and portmanteau down the stairs and out to a handcart.
‘Have you no work to get on with, young man?’ Mr Dawson asked sharply. ‘This is the second time I’ve seen you neglecting your duties today.’
‘I thought you might need some help.’
‘Well, we don’t.’
Scowling, Harry went back into the shop.
‘Sitting in the flat, indeed!’ the clerk muttered as they walked back down the street. ‘Well, that’s going to stop.’
Zachary had wondered why they felt the need for someone to occupy the flat. Mr Featherworth was a kindly man, but his clerk seemed more astute. Zachary didn’t think they’d have any worries about the financial side of things, though. Harry Prebble had never been anything but honest and industrious during the years they’d worked together.
But Zachary still didn’t like him, he admitted to himself – hadn’t when they were boys, and trusted him even less as a man. He’d never understood why.
The next day Zachary’s mother was advised on how to pack his new possessions for a long journey by no less a person than Mrs Featherworth. Two extra sets of clothing and underclothing you needed, because it was not only hard to wash clothes in sea water, to do it for so many people was impossible. Trunks were brought up from the hold each month so that people could change their garments during the voyage, which would last approximately a hundred days. Just imagine that! What a great distance he’d be travelling.
Every evening he went to dinner at the lawyer’s house, the first time so nervous he doubted he’d be able to eat a mouthful. But his hostes
s was a motherly woman, whom he’d sometimes served in the shop, and it was impossible to stay afraid of anyone with such a warm smile.
‘You won’t mind if I help you improve your table manners, Zachary dear?’ she said gently, taking his arm as she led him into the dining room, with Mr Featherworth and his two daughters following.
‘I’d appreciate any help you can give me, Mrs Featherworth.’ He tried not to stare round but was awed that they had a big room like this purely for eating in.
As everyone took their places, she pointed to the cutlery in front of her and said in a low voice, ‘The trick is to start from the outside pieces at each side of your plate.’
While Mr Featherworth said grace, Zachary stared down at the daunting array of cutlery. So many pieces for one meal alone. How much were they going to eat?
The minute grace ended, a maid carried in a soup tureen which she set in front of her mistress. Mrs Featherworth ladled its contents into bowls and the maid passed them round, then left. Everyone seemed to be waiting to eat and no one started until the mistress did.
Zachary took up the big round spoon on the right when the others did and watched how they used it before starting on his own soup, a brown meaty concoction served with crusty rolls.
The food was delicious and for once he had more than enough to eat. He only wished he could take some of his share home for his mother and sister to try.
After the four courses were over, they went to sit in the drawing room. Mrs Featherworth patted the sofa next to her and Zachary sat down, already trusting her.
‘There are other things my daughters and I can teach you, for instance, what subjects to discuss with ladies, how to offer your arm.’
The two young women sitting nearby nodded their heads and smiled at him. Nice lasses, they seemed, about the same age as his sister. He wished Hallie had a fine dress like those they were wearing, because she was just as pretty.
‘Do you enjoy reading?’ Mrs Featherworth asked.
‘I love it. When I have time, that is.’
‘Good. We’ve found some books for you to read on the journey to help pass the time. I do hope you’ll enjoy them.’
