A Second Chance

by Shayne Parkinson

  She tried to sit up, but she seemed tethered to the bed by a wide band of cloth that went across her breasts. The only sound she could make was a muffled sob. The sobs grew stronger until they seemed to rack her body, and then abruptly she was awake and retching, and scrambling for the bucket.

  When she had recovered enough to look around the cabin, she saw that the darkness had lessened. Whatever sleep she had snatched had done nothing to refresh her, but she had no wish to drift back into that dream of an empty cradle.

  She waited until the cabin grew light enough for her to see the opposite wall, then she rose and dressed herself, moving as quietly as she could. She retrieved her hat from under the bed, slipped on her cloak and went out onto the deck.

  The sun was up, but in the west the sky was still pale. They were passing close to a large island. Amy tried without success to recall its name. They must be close to Auckland now, but all she felt was weariness and an aching sense of loss.

  She found a seat where she could be unobserved, and pulled her cloak more closely around herself as she felt the pinch of a chilly breeze. Islands slid past, teasing her with tugs at her memory. She should know their names. Her father had named them for her. But that was on her journey home. On the voyage to Auckland she had had no names for the islands glimpsed through the porthole of the cabin where she had been shut away.

  Her stomach was aching, but there was nothing left to bring up, just a grinding emptiness. She could see the wharves of Auckland now, jutting into the harbour. A few more minutes and some of the larger buildings were visible. There would be cabs waiting at the wharves, eager to pick up their share of the disembarking passengers. Susannah had hailed a cab, and it had taken Amy to the boarding house. Amy was not sure that she knew how to hail a cab. How would she get to the boarding house this time?

  No, that wasn’t right. She lifted the veil of her hat to let the cold wind sting her face, trying to clear her head. She would not need to hail a cab for herself. She was not going back to that lonely room in the boarding house.

  How could it be so sharp in her memory, after so long? She could see the empty cradle, and the nurse carrying it from the room. She could see the mark the cradle had left on the floor. She let the veil drop again, to hide the redness of her eyes from any prying gaze.

  The jolt as the boat bumped against the wharf took her by surprise; she had been too lost in her thoughts to be aware of the final approach. The blurring of her eyes and the black net of her veil made the shapes around her seem insubstantial, and she was startled when some of them began to move: her fellow passengers, eager to be off the boat.

  She should be gathering her things and getting ready to disembark. She rose and took a few steps towards the ladies’ cabin, but there was such a crush now that she was unsure whether she would be able to force her way against the tide of people. A man shouldered past, muttered an apology and hurried on his way. Amy found herself standing by the handrail. She backed against it, trying to retreat further from the crowd, until she felt the metal of the rail pressing into her spine.

  Before her, people pushed and shoved against each other. Behind her she sensed the city, its buildings brooding over her. The crush began to subside, and she managed to turn around without being pushed more than once or twice. The veil still made it difficult to make out the details of what she saw. A tall, straight figure stood at the head of the steps leading from the wharf to the street, its concentration obviously directed at the boat. A tall woman in a dark blue dress.

  Amy pushed back her veil, and as if that one small gesture had caught the observer’s attention, the woman’s eyes were suddenly on her. Even from her distance, Amy could see the smile that lit up the woman’s face, and the mouth shaping her name.

  Sarah swept onto the boat in a whirl of blue silk, the rustling of her taffeta skirts audible above the voices around her. A lively-looking boy of about twelve was close at her heels. She made no visible attempt to push her way through, but people seemed to stand back to let her pass. She reached Amy and enfolded her in an embrace so strong that it was like being hugged by David.

  ‘You’re here,’ Sarah said, almost breathless with elation.

  Amy rested against her, weak from the buffeting of emotions, and too happy to squander energy on inadequate words.

  Sarah sent the boy to collect the baggage. With her arm still encircling Amy, she led her towards the gangplank, and in a shorter time than Amy would have thought possible the boy had joined them on the wharf with her luggage safely under his arms.

  There was a carriage waiting, close to the top of the steps. A man tipped his hat to Amy and helped her in. Sarah got in beside her, while the luggage was stowed away in the back. The boy scrambled up beside the driver, so like the man that Amy was sure they must be father and son. Sarah took Amy’s hand in both of hers and squeezed it, then glanced forward to the coachman.

  ‘Home, Jenson,’ she called.

  3

  After what seemed only a few minutes, Amy found herself stepping down from the carriage and standing before Sarah’s house.

  The building was two storeys high, with a broad, curved entrance porch and a balcony above that. Used as she was to the unpainted wood of the cottage, the white plaster seemed almost dazzling to Amy. Large-paned windows patterned with lace curtains softened the rigid lines of the house.

  Their approach must have been heard by those inside, for by the time Sarah led Amy up to the entrance the staff had assembled below the front steps, ready to be introduced.

  Sarah’s household staff consisted of a cook-housekeeper (the wife of Mr Jenson), two housemaids and a kitchen maid, with the outside work being taken care of by Mr Jenson, who acted as gardener as well as coachman, assisted by his son.

  ‘Mrs Stewart will be staying with me for some months,’ Sarah told the staff when they had been presented. ‘And I’d like it understood that any instructions from Mrs Stewart are to be treated as if they had come from myself.’

  Amy was aware that she was being studied, discreetly but carefully, and she sensed a deeper interest being taken in her after these words. Sarah had mentioned having house guests from time to time, but Amy suspected that the guests were not usually accorded the status Sarah had just conferred on her. She was grateful for the gesture, though it was difficult for her to imagine herself giving orders to any of the staff.

  One of the maids took charge of Amy’s luggage, while Sarah ushered her into a large entrance hall, where the other maid helped Amy and Sarah off with their cloaks. A chandelier hung from the ceiling, a gorgeous thing of sparkling crystal catching the light from the open front door. Amy had little time to take in more details before Sarah led her to the foot of the broad staircase that dominated the hall.

  ‘I’ll show you your room straight away,’ she told Amy. ‘You’ll want to change, I expect. And you’ll need to freshen up after that boat trip. Alice, some hot water to Mrs Stewart’s room, please.’

  ‘The jug’s filled and ready on the wash stand, Miss Sarah,’ the maid who had taken the cloaks said promptly.

  ‘Good. That will be all for the moment.’

  The staff dispersed to their various tasks, and Sarah ushered Amy up the stairs and down a short passage to where a door stood open.

  Amy followed her into the bedroom, then stood stock still, staring around open-mouthed. The cottage’s parlour and David’s room together would not have filled this room. An ornate brass bedstead stood against one wall, with a pretty dressing table opposite it. There was a tiled washstand with pink-embroidered towels and patterned china, and a wooden chair with a carved back. Amy had never lived in a house with any sort of wallpaper at all, let alone such beautiful paper as this room had, intricately patterned with a design of birds and flowers. The chaise longue, something Amy had heard of but never before seen, was upholstered in a fabric similar in pattern to the wallpaper.

  ‘Sarah, you mustn’t give me your room!’ she said when she had recovered her voice
.

  ‘My room?’ Sarah looked startled, then she laughed. ‘Don’t worry, Amy, this isn’t my bedroom. Mine’s a good deal larger—yes, such a thing is possible, don’t look so doubtful. I’ll show it to you later. No, dear, this room is all yours.’

  She turned to the maid, who was unpacking Amy’s meagre luggage and hanging the dresses in a wardrobe. ‘Nellie, you can finish Mrs Stewart’s things later, thank you.’

  The maid bobbed a curtsy and left the room, and Sarah turned her attention back to Amy.

  ‘Now, there are a few things here you won’t be quite familiar with. The electric light, for one. Here, let me show you.’ She demonstrated how pulling on a cord made the light come on, while a second pull made it go off again. When Sarah told Amy to try it for herself she stared in fascination at the light that flicked on, off, on, off in obedience to a sharp tug, until Sarah prised her fingers gently from the cord.

  ‘That’s enough for now. You’ll wear out the bulb if you play with it like that—no, don’t worry,’ she said, forestalling Amy’s guilty apology. ‘I remember playing with the light myself for hours when we first had it put in.

  ‘The bathroom is down the passage,’ Sarah went on. ‘I’ll show it to you in a moment, though there’s no need for a tour of the entire house just yet. You’ve your own washstand, of course, and if you need any hot water—or anything at all, come to that—just pull this rope, and one of the maids will come.’

  Her gaze travelled the room, clearly searching for anything else that might be unfamiliar to Amy. ‘Oh, yes,’ she said when her eyes lighted on what appeared to be a small, wooden cabinet. ‘I’m sure you won’t have seen one of these before. If you’re inconvenienced in the night, there’s no need for you to brave the passage in your nightgown.’ She lifted the top of the cabinet to reveal a porcelain bowl of unmistakable shape.

  ‘Oh, it’s a chamber pot!’ Amy said, amazed to see such a thing appearing in a cupboard.

  ‘It’s called a commode. Use it as you need. The maid will empty it.’

  ‘There’s no need—’

  ‘The maid,’ Sarah cut in firmly, ‘will empty it. Now, let’s go and see the bathroom.’

  Amy had heard of bathrooms, but found it difficult to imagine so much space devoted to the purpose of washing oneself. She followed Sarah into a room dominated by an enamelled cast iron bath.

  ‘What a beautiful thing!’ she exclaimed. She crouched in front of the bath to examine it more closely, and found its supports were moulded into the shape of lion paws. ‘And it’s so big,’ she said, awed by the thought of how much water would have to be carried up the stairs to fill such a huge tub. A bath every week would seem a dreadful extravagance. Then she noticed the metal pipes resting on the edge.

  ‘You’ve got running water! Can I try it out? Oh, not if it’s a bother,’ she added hastily.

  Sarah smiled indulgently. ‘Try it as much as you like, as long as you don’t flood the bathroom. I expect you’ll want a bath this evening, after that dreadful boat. I’ll tell the maids.’

  ‘No, I had a bath on Saturday,’ Amy assured her. She looked up from trying out the fascinating tap, and saw a smile fluttering on Sarah’s lips; there was a brief, barely perceptible struggle, then the smile won.

  ‘I usually have a bath a little more often than once a week, Amy,’ Sarah said gently. ‘I do understand it hasn’t been possible for you on the farm, with having to carry water up from that well, but I hope you’ll take full advantage of the facilities here. Please feel free to ask the maids to run a bath for you whenever you want. Every night, if you wish.’

  Despite Sarah’s careful effort not to demean her, Amy felt chastened at the revelation that her standards of cleanliness might be wanting. She hoped fervently that she would not cause Sarah embarrassment by any social graces she might lack.

  She was distracted from her uncomfortable thoughts by the next wonder revealed to her. Beside the bathroom was a smaller room that held a large, wooden-topped porcelain bowl with a tank suspended above it. A chain dangled from the tank, with a decorated porcelain handle at its end.

  ‘Pull the chain,’ Sarah invited. ‘Pull it hard.’

  Amy did, then let go of it with a startled squeal and took a step backwards when a rush of water was released into the bowl.

  ‘A flush toilet,’ she said, plucking up her courage to lean forward and peer in. ‘So that’s what one looks like.’ She frowned, not quite comfortable with the idea of a lavatory inside the house. It seemed a rather unhygienic arrangement, though the room certainly smelt more of carbolic than anything else. The novelty of the flush toilet appealed to Amy; it also made her realise that she had a need of the lavatory beyond mere curiosity.

  ‘Try it out properly,’ Sarah suggested when she saw Amy’s expression. ‘I’ll call Nellie back, she can finish your unpacking.’

  She closed the door after her, and Amy sampled the delights of the flush toilet in all its glory. The squares of white paper fastened neatly to the wall were the final touch of luxury; no re-used pages of the Weekly News, these, but paper obviously intended solely for the lavatory.

  Sarah was waiting in the passage, and she led the way back to Amy’s room. ‘That’s enough surprises for your first morning, I think. I really should leave you in peace to freshen up.’ Her hand rested lightly on Amy’s shoulder. ‘The trouble is,’ she murmured, ‘now that I have you here at last, I’m reluctant to let you out of my sight.’

  ‘Stay if you want—I’d like you to.’

  Sarah’s hand travelled up to brush Amy’s cheek. ‘Look at those circles under your eyes! I’ve hardly taken any notice of how tired you look. Was it dreadful on the boat?’

  ‘It wasn’t specially rough or anything. I’m not very good about boats, though.’

  ‘Neither am I, on the steamships. I must get that from you. Yachts are quite different, of course. I don’t suppose you got much sleep?’

  ‘Not really. Not proper sleep, anyway.’

  ‘Would you like to have a nap before lunch?’

  Amy felt she did not want to waste a moment of her time with Sarah, but the thought of lying down on that soft bed was inviting. ‘I think perhaps I would. I’m not going to be very good company if I keep yawning.’

  ‘Very well, I’ll just have to do without you for a little while.’ Sarah glanced around the room. ‘Now, where might your nightdress be?’

  ‘I think that girl—Nellie, is that her name? I think she put it in the top drawer. I’ll get it, Sarah, don’t you bother.’

  Sarah retrieved the nightdress from its drawer and placed it on the bed. ‘You must let me fuss over you, I’m afraid I’ll insist on that. Sit down here, please.’ She indicated the chair in front of the dressing table, and Amy did as she asked.

  ‘Let me be ladies’ maid, this once at least,’ Sarah said. She removed Amy’s veiled black hat and set it to one side, then carefully removed the hairpins.

  ‘There,’ she said when Amy’s hair, released, tumbled over her shoulders and down her back. ‘I won’t attempt to help you undress, though. I’m not really a very good ladies’ maid.’

  Sarah folded back the coverlet and made a show of smoothing the pillows. ‘You should be quite comfortable. Now, if you want anything at all, just pull the cord for the maid. There’s no hurry for you to get up, I want you to rest till lunch-time at least.’

  She drew the heavy drapes together, leaving the room pleasantly dim, and pulled the door closed as she went out.

  Amy undressed and washed herself, handling the beautiful china of the wash set with reverence. She put on her nightdress, then slid gratefully into the bed. It was even softer than it looked; the mattress was what she imagined a cloud might be to lie on. She rubbed her cheek against the top sheet. It smelt faintly of lavender, and the linen was fine enough to have been made into the daintiest of underwear.

  Despite the meagre amount of sleep she had had the night before, drowsiness refused to turn into slumber. Her reluc
tance to close her eyes did not help; the room was beautiful, even in the dim light. The ceiling was particularly lovely, with its intricate plaster moulding and the etched glass light fitting at its centre. Being deserted by sleep was no hardship when it was delightful just to lie in the big, soft bed in this enchanting room.

  When she reckoned that at least two hours had passed, Amy got out of bed. The black dress was marked with the dust of travelling; she left it draped over the back of a chair and put on her work dress. She opened the drapes and studied the angle of the sun; well after midday, she judged.

  The maid came in while Amy was brushing her hair.

  ‘Begging your pardon, ma’am, but Miss Sarah told me to see if you were awake yet, in case you were wanting anything.’

  ‘Yes, I’m quite awake, I’ve had a lovely rest,’ Amy said. ‘Do you know what the time is, Nellie?’

  ‘Just about one o’clock, ma’am.’

  ‘As late as that? What time will lunch be on?’

  Nellie looked at her in evident surprise. ‘Why, lunch will be whenever you want it, Mrs Stewart. Can I help you with anything?’

  ‘Well, if it’s not too much trouble, could you get me a clothes brush? This dress could do with a good brushing.’

  Nellie looked more surprised than before. She frowned slightly, as if not sure that she had understood correctly. ‘I’ll see to it at once, Mrs Stewart.’ She picked the dress up and left the room before Amy had time to protest.

  She thought of hurrying after Nellie to tell her that she had not meant the maid to clean the dress for her, but she was not sure whether she would be able to find the girl. Instead she finished putting her hair in order, and when that was done she explored her wonderful bedroom, opening every drawer, examining the lace curtains, and studying the wallpaper until she had comprehended how the pattern repeated itself every foot or so.