As they grew closer a separate kitchen with an adjoining covered walkway could be seen on the western side of the house and two young children were running through a grove of lemon and orange trees, a servant in attendance. Kate kept a smile from forming on her lips. This was simply the grandest place she’d ever been to.
The Reverend brushed the dust of their travels from his clothing and rubbed a forefinger briskly across his teeth.
Considering everything that had passed between them, the Reverend had done right by her in the end. Perhaps it was in deference to the regard in which he held her mother. Or had Kate underestimated the man’s propensity for goodness? Whatever the reason, Kate thanked the man opposite her with genuine gratitude. The dray jolted to a stop.
‘Perhaps you may grow to have your mother’s qualities,’ Reverend Horsley replied, stepping down from the cart and placing a hand briefly to his lower back. ‘Obedience and humility are the virtues expected of the fairer sex, Kate.’ He extended a hand to her. ‘Either way I am sure your new role will be an enlightening experience.’
Kate took his arm and set foot on the grounds of her new home. The Reverend kept her hand in his, the pressure of his grip increasing. ‘I notice you are wearing one of your mother’s gowns. One of a number I gave her. It becomes you.’
‘You’re hurting me.’
‘Am I?’ He released her immediately. ‘How careless.’
Kate rubbed at the red mark on her wrist. She would be pleased to see the last of him.
Before them stood a fine colonial bungalow of red brick washed with lime. There were French doors in place of windows, deep timber verandahs with fine lattice-work and a trailing vine at the western end. The building had the symmetrical qualities of the Governor’s residence and a low-pitched roof of the type said to be favoured in India. There was no doubt in Kate’s mind that she was entering the world of the rich and the progressive.
The driver dragged Kate’s trunk from the rear of the dray. Everything she owned, including the few possessions of her mother’s, landed with a thud on the ground. The front door swung open. A pointy-nosed convict stood on the threshold. The woman, aged in her thirties, was scarred by the pox, but it was the servant’s tapping foot that caught Kate’s attention. ‘You be the Reverend Horsley and the new girl.’ Her expression never altered as she turned her attention to the Irish driver, giving the man a withering look. ‘You should have come round the back.’ The woman stuck her hands on her hips.
‘I brought the Father with me, I did,’ he argued. ‘What’s a person to do? Drop one at the front and the other out back? One stop at either end was the instruction, girl, and that’s what I done.’
Ignoring the driver’s remarks, the maid beckoned to them. ‘Well, come on then. The Missus is expecting you.’ She looked Kate up and down. ‘And you’re a half-hour late.’
Kate trailed the Reverend into the entrance hall. There was just enough time given for hats and travelling cloaks to be removed and no time to study the oil portraits of the three members of the English gentry who lined the passageway, although Kate was aware of their querying gaze. No dirt or hewn timber met her heeled leather shoes. Instead the timber boards were covered with thick canvas, painted in black and cream squares to resemble a marble floor. There were two doors on either side of the hall and a line of servant bells, each differing in size and tone according to room, were suspended from one side of the hall. One began to tinkle.
The maid knocked once on a door and announced them.
Kate found herself standing in the grandest room possible. The walls were pale yellow, the windows hung with striking floral material with bright contrasts of blue, orange, green and red and the furniture was simply exquisite. Twin rosewood sofas were positioned near a brightly woven rug opposite a large fireplace. There were a number of fine pieces of furniture, sideboards, a sewing table and chairs, while a large vase of native flowers and grasses was arranged on the breakfast table, which was placed close to the French window and the natural light.
‘So then, Jelly-belly, they have arrived, very good. You can serve tea.’ Mrs Kable closed the sheet music and, having dismissed the maid, turned from where she sat before a small piano. She studied them both, one at a time, slowly. It was a practised gesture. Kate imagined their hostess counting to ten, but although Kate was savvy to the older woman’s intent towards causing discomfort, it had the desired effect.
‘Reverend Horsley, welcome.’ The piano was quite unadorned except for a large panel of scarlet material above the keys, which was gathered prettily to meet in the middle at a rosette. In contrast, on rising, Mrs Kable quite outshone her surrounds. Aged in her early forties her pale skin, brown hair and short stature were emphasised by a mustard gown with sloping shoulders and a narrow waist that tapered to a small point at the front before layers of skirts and petticoats floated over full hips. Every feminine curve was accentuated by the cut and cream lace trim.
‘And you must be Miss Carter,’ Mrs Kable said politely. ‘Do sit, my dear, I am only too aware how tiring that journey can be. You experienced no problems, I hope. We never know when the natives may appear but thankfully this area is becoming more settled and their numbers have been dwindling. And you, Reverend Horsley, having to return in the morning, you will be quite exhausted.’
The Reverend’s smile, one much used for widows at funerals, was replaced by a pulpit glare. Sitting stiffly on one of the sofas, he crossed his legs. By the size of his travelling bag it was clear that he’d expected to be invited to stay for at least a few days. In the awkward silence the carriage clock on the mantelpiece chimed. They were interrupted by the maid, who sat a tea-tray before them on a table. The porcelain china rattled noisily and the girl apologised profusely and curtsied before leaving the room.
‘Convicts,’ sighed Mrs Kable as she poured tea and offered both sugar and milk. ‘They can be wearing at times. Jelly-belly does her best, but, well … We’ve two new girls from the Female Factory at Parramatta, one of them has markedly fine needlepoint.’ She took a sip of her tea. ‘You must sit with her, Miss Carter, and observe. She is a woman of sour disposition but her talent is quite remarkable.’
Kate looked at the creamy coloured tea, sipping it carefully. The flavour was wonderful and she savoured each mouthful. This was a home of import. Even the Reverend didn’t serve milk as milking cows were a rarity. ‘I wanted to thank you, Mrs Kable.’
The woman shook her head, causing the movement of numerous ringlets. ‘It is my husband’s doing. Initially I was not in agreement, it’s the responsibility, I’m sure you understand. You will be a long way from the Reverend, and a young woman such as yourself, well, to be blunt, I consider it strange that you would wish to venture so far afield.’
Admittedly it had been somewhat of a journey to the Kable farm, however Kate was more than pleased to be here. ‘Sometimes one must travel in order to reach the appropriate end,’ she answered, copying Mrs Kable’s formality.
Mrs Kable peered over the rim of her cup. ‘She is quite schooled, isn’t she?’
The Reverend merely nodded.
‘You should be seeking a suitable husband, raising a family. That is a woman’s duty, after all, is it not?’
Kate bristled, her personal situation was not something that she considered to be for public discussion. ‘Some would say so.’
‘Some?’ Their hostess gave a mock cough, held a handkerchief to her lips. ‘All would say so, my dear. Whomever has suggested otherwise is quite at odds with the way of the world. Such things can be unlearnt, can’t they, Reverend Horsley?’
‘Indeed, Mrs Kable. All things are possible.’ He turned in Kate’s direction. ‘With time.’
‘Well, to the matter at hand. You are here in search of employ and although I am at odds with your acceptance of the role, I must think of my own family’s needs at this time.’
Kate was at a loss at this comment. Did Mrs Kable believe her above the position of companion? If so, this was
an auspicious start. She straightened her shoulders a little more. The Reverend dropped his gaze to the woven matting at his feet.
‘I more than most understand the benefit of companionship. And you, Miss Carter, are obviously a gentlewoman in spite of certain, shall we say, limitations.’
‘Limitations?’ Kate repeated.
The woman ignored her. ‘The Reverend says you are a willing participant in this venture in spite of his offer to retain you in his employ.’ Mrs Kable paused, as if seeking confirmation.
‘Most willing, yes,’ Kate agreed, taking a sip of the hot drink and then gently placing the cup soundlessly on the saucer. Her mother would be proud.
Mrs Kable observed her carefully and made a clucking sound with her tongue. ‘Very well. As long as you are aware that if the situation does not suit you, Miss Carter, that it may be a good year, indeed longer, before you have the opportunity to leave. There is the question of travel and of course the difficulty of trying to obtain someone to replace you.’
The Reverend remarked on the weather and a brief discussion ensued as to the lack of rain.
‘Now, if we’ve finished …’ The older woman moved to a corner of the room and tugged at the bell pull.
Kate glanced at the partially consumed tea, took a sip and then another before reluctantly sitting the cup and saucer on the table. If milk were to be served up every day, she would be happy indeed.
‘Jelly-belly will show you to your rooms. Tea is at six sharp.’ Their hostess waved a hand in farewell as the pointy-nosed maid reappeared.
Kate waited in the hallway while the maid escorted the Reverend to his bedchamber. It was an airy space and the portraits lining the walls were of two men and a woman, all suitably smug in the way that only the high-born can appear. On the maid’s return, she led Kate to the rear verandah, past a trellis covered in vine, which Kate guessed provided a pretty aspect during the warmer months for those occupants fortunate enough to be sitting at the breakfast table. A French door fed into another passageway and then to a small room. Plainly decorated, Kate wondered if this was to be her personal domain for the bedchamber had a narrow wardrobe, washstand and mirror but no desk or chair. From the curtained window above the bed there was, however, a fine view of the mountains. They sat like a smudge of pale blue ink against a washed out sky while in the foreground the green wheat fields, which she’d seen on their arrival, swayed gently in the breeze.
As Kate surveyed the cold room, the maid hovering behind her, heavy footsteps announced the arrival of her trunk. Two convict men dumped the chest in her room and left without a word.
‘Mrs Kable mentioned tea was to be served at six. Might I have water to wash, please?’
The maid looked at the water pitcher on the washstand. ‘I’ll have some brought directly, but Mrs Kable said you’re to have tea in your room on account of your journey.’ The maid lowered her voice. ‘They’ve got guests and the Missus keeps a first class table, she does. They’re good people and fair, if you know your place.’ The maid pressed her lips together, aware she’d been outspoken.
‘Your name isn’t really Jelly-belly, is it?’
‘You don’t know much about how big houses run, do you, miss?’ The question hung. ‘I’m the head maid, every one of us has been called that,’ she announced. ‘They can’t be expected to remember our names. If you don’t mind me saying so, I think you’re terribly brave, miss.’
Kate smiled. ‘Brave? I’m probably the least brave of anyone I know. Besides, I can’t see how being employed in the capacity of companion to Mrs Kable could be anything other than pleasurable. I’m yet to be acquainted with her in full, although she seems like a charming lady.’
The maid’s brow knitted together. ‘I’ll get you that water, miss. But I’ll not be waiting on you while you’re here.’
‘I wouldn’t expect you to.’
With the rules of their relationship established, Jelly-belly gave a satisfied nod and left.
Kate opened her trunk. From it she retrieved her mother’s bone-handled hairbrush and cream woollen shawl. Pressing the bristles against her palm, she placed it on the beige coverlet of the sagging bed, then, shawl in hand, Kate walked along the hall and onto a rear porch, open to the elements. Wrapping the stole about her shoulders, she stepped from the verandah out into the garden. The area at the rear of the house held an extensive vegetable garden behind which sat grapevines. A convict woman was bucketing water onto rose bushes, rubbing at the small of her back and straightening as she moved to the next plant, while another rushed in the direction of the kitchen carrying a basket filled with herbs.
The sun hung low above the mountains, turning the pallid sky bright as it crested the tops of the hills in a white halo. Kate had always been in the kitchen with Madge at this hour. It had been many years since there’d been a quiet moment to watch the day merge into night, and with myriad chores to attend to, the arrival of night had become an almost insignificant event. But now the moment held Kate transfixed. You’re becoming sentimental, she mused, as the landscape softened under lengthening shadows. Prettiness was never a word she’d used to describe her surrounds, the bush was changeable, mysterious. But here in this place Kate witnessed what could be created with money and labour. And all of it sat beneath the gaze of the blue hills and a softening sun.
It was the quietness that surprised her. There were no convicts talking or arguing, no children fighting, no Madge busily ordering her about, no Reverend with his demands. The hush was both strange and pleasant for a late afternoon. Sheep were calling to each other as convict men converged uphill to their barracks. There was birdsong and the chopping of firewood and the sounds of a household readying for darkness, but everything was muted, ordered. Beyond that it was as if the very countryside watched and waited. For what, she had little idea.
‘You’d notice the quiet, coming from Syd-e-ney and all.’ A man stepped out from behind a tree. He carried a musket and wore a brace of pistols at his hips. ‘You’d be Miss Kate Carter.’ He tipped his hat. ‘We’ve heard all about you.’ He walked towards her and was slow in running his eyes across her body. ‘You’re a little thing. I expected a big bonny lass.’
‘You have the advantage, sir.’
‘George Southerland.’ He was tall and lean, with a thick, ragged beard. There was a distinct smell about him. Pipe smoke and rum and wet earth mixed with the scent of a body long past bathing. He was not averse to staring and beneath his gaze Kate found her fingers tightening on the shawl. ‘They say you’ve not been married. It’s a wonder, out here, looking the way you do.’ He rubbed at the mat growing from his chin. ‘You came with the Reverend.’ It was a statement. ‘He keep you under lock and key, did he?’
Kate stiffened. ‘Of course not.’
He chuckled, and began to scratch at his beard, and kept on scratching until he’d circumnavigated his chin like some ancient explorer. ‘Best we get on, miss, don’t you think, seeing as you’ll be depending on me over the coming weeks. And don’t be a-feared, I have no liking for skin and bones with attitude, no matter if it comes with a pretty face. Out here a man wants something to hold onto at night. I’d just as likely squash you flat.’
Kate clutched at the shawl and turned to leave. She hadn’t travelled all this way to be spoken to so brazenly by a rough stranger.
‘Don’t stalk off on my account. I mean no harm. I’ve lost some of me niceties on account of being out bush for so long, but we’ll get on, you and I, as long as you follow the rules once we get under way.’
‘Under way?’ Kate faced the man. ‘I think you have me confused with another, Mr Southerland.’
‘Not if you’re to be a companion to Mr Kable’s cousin’s wife, Sarah.’
‘Cousin?’ Kate repeated. She didn’t understand.
‘She’s a fine woman, Sarah Hardy is. Tougher than most. She’ll be pleased to see you, lass. Female company is less than scarce.’
Kate had seen no other dwelling nearby.
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br /> ‘We thought to leave within the next few days so you best be prepared. Mr Hardy is waiting on a load of stores.’ He cocked his head. ‘I wonder at your going. Still, you can be grateful we’re not herding 1500 Saxon ewes and rams up-country, let alone the twenty head of cattle and two drays that were part of the initial expedition.’ He looked briefly skyward. ‘The weather’s holding. Best we make the most of the fine days, although I doubt there will be a break in the season just yet.’ He looked her up and down for a second time. ‘You best be prepared for there’ll be weeks of hard travel along rutted tracks, creeks and rivers to cross, mud and sand to get bogged in and broken axles to mend. It’s a distance and there’s not much between here and there apart from shanties and bushrangers and blacks.’
‘I think there must be some confusion,’ Kate began but Mr Southerland had already taken his leave of her without a backward glance. She wrung her hands. If indeed it was Mr Jonas Kable’s intent for her to be sent elsewhere, Kate had a right to know where. Voices carried from the front of the house along with the familiar noise of horses on gravel. Kate wanted to see who the visitors were but she was neither maid nor guest. It occurred to her that with her new position she didn’t quite fit in on either side of the household. And now she wasn’t even sure who she was to work for.
Jelly-belly reappeared and called her indoors. ‘Mrs Kable says you’re to dress for dinner on account of Mr Kable wanting everyone present. The Missus is none too pleased so if I was you, miss, I’d be as quick as you can and quiet as a mouse once the dining begins.’ Sitting a jug of water on the washstand near a large blue and white porcelain bowl, she handed Kate a candle. ‘If you’ve got a decent gown, now is the time for it. As for me I’ve me own problems what with Mrs Ovens having two extra at table and Molly not being presentable enough yet to serve. That’s the worst of them factory girls, they’re always stirring up trouble. Had her head shaved she did for nicking outside after dark. Heavens, miss, I still think you’re terribly brave.’
Wild Lands Page 8
