Bendigo
Saturday 10 September 1898
What on earth is it going to take with this man?
‘The answer is still no, Edwin.’ In the parlour, her hand restless on the mantelpiece, Evie took a deep steadying breath and met his imperious gaze. ‘I do not wish to marry you.’
She’d only agreed to consider Edwin Cooper’s proposal, and now that she’d considered it, all of two days, her answer was no.
Yet he continued wheedling while in her parlour, in her house. Hardly gentlemanly.
‘Come along, my dear. You’ve given me no reason why not.’ He tweaked that silly pale waxed moustache of his again.
She scoffed at that. ‘Not a requirement.’
His ginger eyebrows arched. ‘I doubt you’ll find another man with prospects such as mine who’ll put up with your—let’s face it—many odd behaviours.’
Evie challenged him this time. ‘I beg your pardon? What odd behaviours?’ She was quite sure she didn’t have odd behaviours, but just lately he’d begun to slip into their conversation the idea that there was something amiss about her. This was one of the reasons she no longer wished to have anything to do with Edwin.
Tired of it, and refusing to trade insults, she stood her ground. She’d already waited too long. This matter would be dealt with simply and with dignity, and that would be that. It was her right to refuse his offer of marriage.
Although perhaps you’ve been wrong on that subject before. Evie faltered a second. That’d had nothing to do with Edwin, though.
He pounced on her hesitation. ‘Ah, I see that has given you pause,’ he said. ‘We wouldn’t want to call your little eccentricities anything else, would we? A strong husband will ensure they don’t escalate and a solid marriage will keep you on an even keel.’
The benign smile was not fooling her. Little eccentricities! It was a threat, she knew it, and hardly covert at that. How many husbands, how many fathers, had she read about who had put their wives and daughters away in asylums for not much more than little eccentricities? Why hadn’t she noticed this side of Edwin before? Had he flattered her so much she’d been blind to his true character? Anyway, they were empty threats. He couldn’t touch her, couldn’t even attempt to have her ‘seen to’ for madness. He was not her husband and never would be.
Nevertheless, a chill jangled her spine. She was shocked to hear him intimate his perceived power over her and, worse, that he appeared to believe she’d somehow swoon and be swept away by these words.
‘What on earth makes you think you can speak to me of that? You have absolutely no reason, and no right.’ She straightened to her full height, which admittedly was not much past five foot three. Formidable though—to any intelligent person, that was. ‘You don’t know me at all. Three months or thereabouts since I met you, and only odd occasions stepping out, is hardly enough time to suggest anything like it, much less warrant a marriage proposal.’
He waved her off. ‘Neither does a man like to be left dangling,’ he said. ‘Teased, some might say. You’ll reconsider, I’m sure. You don’t want to be wrong about this.’
Oh, spit, Edwin. You’re plain awful. How did I last this long in your company? I must have been desperate or something.
Her jaw set. ‘You’re not left dangling, Edwin.’ You’ve been dropped. ‘Like most people at times,’ she said as coolly as possible, ‘I have been wrong about certain things in the past.’ Oh, finally admitting it, Evie Emerson. Her internal voice again, the nagging one, and it was cutting. She cleared her throat. ‘However, I’m not wrong about this.’
Could she—should she—have married her much-loved friend, that gorgeous man Fitzmorgan O’Shea, and traipsed around the countryside with him? They’d talked about marrying, but no proposal was ever forthcoming. Nor was one sought; it had only been … discussion. At least he was a friend, not like this individual. Although, to be honest, at the time it hadn’t felt right to pursue it—and it had to feel right when marrying, didn’t it? How else to put up with what she knew a wife had to endure for the privilege? She’d have to give up her job. Take up all that cooking. Bear all those babies …
Oh Lord no, I can never imagine babies with Edwin. Her lip curled and she had to wiggle it with a finger to loosen it.
‘Let’s not change things, darling Evie,’ Edwin said. ‘You seemed in such a hurry for us to get to know one another, especially after you were left’—his brows rose—‘in scandalous haste by that last fella.’
God save me. She had not been in a hurry, and certainly hadn’t been seeking someone like Edwin—at any pace—to replace Fitz. It was just that after Fitz left (in a tearing great hurry, true) she’d thought she’d be able to easily fill the gaping hole his departure had opened. But she hadn’t, and she missed the banter, the laughter, Fitz’s easy-going, light-hearted nature. So when her two married friends, Ann and Posie, had introduced her to Edwin and encouraged her to spend some time with him, or at least somebody, she had agreed to placate them and perhaps to entertain herself. And then Edwin had pursued her, which had been flattering at first. Annoying now.
‘What a cad,’ he added, inspecting his fingernails.
‘Don’t talk rubbish,’ she said, the stubborn curl on her lip returning. Fitz had not left her. They were friends, the three of them, she, Fitz and Raff—Rafferty Dolan, his best friend since they were boys. They’d both left, going their separate ways, off to do what it was they needed to. They had left Bendigo, but not her.
‘Perhaps he thought you too old.’
Evie’s teeth clenched. ‘If I’m in my dotage and as yet unmarried, Edwin, it’s because I’m still waiting for a good man.’
‘Ha,’ he burst, surprised, amused. Then shaking his head, he tut-tutted. ‘Now, now, Evie dear,’ he chided, a slim finger in the air.
‘And don’t patronise me either.’
He gave her that smirk of his, no doubt conjuring more of his platitudes. Oily things came to mind. He was certainly no substitute for either of her male friends. ‘I think—’
‘You heard me and I mean it,’ she said. ‘I don’t wish to marry you. That should be the end of the discussion.’ Her chin wobbled; fury had surfaced. Blast it, she wasn’t calm at all. Faced with the exaggerated disbelief now on Edwin’s usually bland face, she closed her eyes a moment and Rafferty Dolan inexplicably appeared in her mind. For goodness’ sake, Raff hardly looked twice at me.
But she missed Raff, she admitted it. He was a sturdy, reliable, still-water-runs-deep man with a warm, green-eyed gaze. Perhaps she’d even venture to say, enigmatic. Mrs Downing, her employer, a local milliner, had remarked the same of him, approval lighting her features.
Raff had left for his home in Ballarat when Fitz left. Of course.
She should— Oh, should, should, should.
‘You look perturbed, Evie. Don’t further upset yourself. Come along and take a seat with me. I’ll help you settle your nerves.’ Edwin opened his arm to indicate the settee by the window.
Oh Lord, he was no panacea for what ailed her. Curling her fingers, she tapped a fist lightly on the mantel. The heat and cheer from the crackling little flames in the fireplace bolstered her resolve. ‘For the last time, my answer is no, Edwin. Now, please leave.’
‘Oh now, now, dear. We won’t have such nonsense,’ Edwin said. ‘Our alliance will be a wonderful thing, so what’s the reason, if indeed there is reason, for your reticence? The problem might be easily rectified. You ladies can be so flighty, on edge. Unstable.’
Now it was a barely disguised, definite, threat. The urge to stamp on his foot and clock him in the nose with the handy candelabra was gaining momentum, whether it made her look mad or not. Instead, she tucked in her chin. ‘This alliance is not for me,’ she said. ‘That’s very clear.’
‘Take your time to review. I have a few minutes.’ Edwin poured himself a glass of port wine from her decanter, took a sip. Savoured, smacked his lips. ‘If it’s about your inheritance—I know managing money can be such a chore for ladies, my mother for one—I can assure you that when we’re married, you won’t have to worry about a thing.’
So, there it is. Her blood boiled. ‘Edwin, I am certainly not worried about managing my inheritance. I wouldn’t hand it over to you even if we did marry. I can administer what I own by law, and I will.’
Glancing at her mother’s photograph on the mantel, she took strength from it. Dear Mama. Cora Emerson gazed serenely. Evie had her mother’s azure eyes, with the same intensity, she’d been told, and the wide cheekbones they’d both inherited from a Mediterranean influence long ago. Her hair was much darker than her mother’s and wasn’t drawn back in the same severe-looking bun, but piled on her head in soft waves held up with combs and pins. The small cleft in Cora’s chin had been handed down to Evie, too. Her mouth was set as firmly now as her mother’s was in her regal pose for the photographer, hiding a wide and generous smile.
‘You’re huffing and puffing, my dear,’ Edwin said, tugging at his jacket cuffs.
‘I don’t care.’
He took a breath, oh-so patient. As usual, his sandy-coloured hair was immaculately plastered to his head, and the waxed and prolific gingery moustache joined long sideburns that were tinged with auburn.
‘So that’s your reason,’ he said and then his smile slipped. ‘You want to administer your inheritance for you and your sister.’ He spread his hands, a not-so-benign smile now dimpling his cheeks. ‘You won’t be any good at it. It’s a known fact that women have no propensity for figures.’ What rot. Didn’t the fool realise everyone knew his mother handled the family’s purse strings? ‘But here’s a thought—how about a trial period? What if I say I’ll allow you to administer your money to begin with, and monitor your progress?’
Evie bit down her rage and her nose wrinkled. ‘What if I repeat what I just told you? I’m aware I have the right to administer my own finances. That’s not the point; my refusal of you has nothing to do with managing money.’
‘My dear, in a marriage,’ he went on, ‘it’s only fitting that the husband is responsible for all the finances. I will gladly direct you in that regard. Let’s not make a to-do about it.’
Whatever he thought, it certainly wasn’t a fortune to make a to-do about; only the little house they were standing in, and a thousand pounds. Evie would be sharing everything with her sibling—if she could find her sister to tell her. She couldn’t do a thing until she had Meryl’s concurrence, but Meryl hadn’t answered any correspondence since she’d married and gone to live somewhere near Cobram, on the Murray river.
After her mother’s will had finally been read, Evie pre-empted a journey to Cobram to find Meryl, and had gone to the railway station to enquire of the fare to Echuca, at the end of the railway line. Edwin had suggested he’d meet her there, to take tea afterwards. She’d been waiting in the queue at the ticket office when something she witnessed had made her decision about Edwin Cooper absolute.
‘Edwin,’ Evie said, now shrill and exasperated. ‘Do I have your full attention? I am not accepting your proposal. I don’t need to marry you, I don’t wish to marry you. I don’t want to see you ever again.’ Debating the sense of it only for the blink of an eye, she burst out with, ‘And I’ll give you a reason why not. You are not an honourable person. You were canoodling with that woman at the railway station. And that’s only one reason.’
Not that it was the crux of the matter, just a very timely incident. A Miss Thompson, he’d admitted, before later denying he knew her at all. Then he’d said that there had been no woman, that it had all been in Evie’s imagination.
Ludicrous. She had eyes in her head.
Edwin reached for his glass and sipped, resting an elbow on the mantel. ‘You know very well you misunderstood the situation at the station the other day.’
Oh, so there had been a situation at the station.
His charm, once beguiling, had become something slithery. His smile wasn’t working now.
‘Perhaps you’re just getting the shakes before the big day,’ he said. ‘Take up your little glass of wine and have a seat.’ He nodded towards the glass on a table by her chair. ‘We’ll get over this hiccup.’ He prepared to take a seat.
Evie drew herself up once again. ‘Leave my house,’ she snapped. ‘I’ve made myself abundantly clear.’ What is wrong with him?
Edwin straightened, brow furrowed. ‘If you insist on this,’ he said, his nostrils flaring, ‘I will deem it to be a breach of contract of marriage.’ His eyes gleamed as he watched for the effect of his threat.
Taken aback, she faltered a moment. ‘Except there wasn’t an engagement, no one knows of it,’ she retorted, ‘no ring has been presented, nor announcements made.’
‘Ahh,’ he said wagging a finger, advancing on her. ‘You are only partly correct. A notice was placed in the paper. Haven’t you seen today’s yet?’
Shock pulsed through her. ‘What?’
‘Oh yes. I’m surprised you haven’t already been inundated with hearty congratulations.’
‘I did not give consent to that,’ she cried.
‘But you consented to marry.’
‘I consented to consider—’
‘Tantamount to consent.’
‘It is not,’ she exploded.
‘My dear, how could I possibly have misunderstood your intention?’
A tight band gripped her chest. ‘There is no ring.’
‘Minor consideration.’ His muddy stare was like a hawk over prey.
‘We are not engaged, Edwin. No matter what underhanded means you have employed to meet your end, and no matter what you say to me or to anyone else, we are not engaged and never were.’ Tapping the mantel with her forefinger, she said, ‘I’ve nothing further to add. Go away and make no attempt to see me again.’
He gave a sigh and sat. ‘Not until we have a proper conversation—’
‘Do I have to throw something?’ She snatched up the crystal decanter, one of the only things left that had belonged to her father, and his father before him.
‘What?’ Edwin leaped back, wine spilling onto the carpet in front of the hearth.
‘You are ill-mannered, Edwin, and boorish. For one thing, you, with that woman, so blatant, especially when you agreed to meet me there—’ Then like a curtain parting, the truth of it opened before her. ‘Oh, you meant for me to see you with her.’ The decanter shook. ‘So you could deny it, and make me out to be mad.’
‘Put that thing down and stop prattling. Your mind’s befuddled.’
He said it: befuddled. A whoosh of heat hit her chest. ‘Do I have to call into the street to have someone come and physically throw you out?’ She made to move past him.
He blocked her. ‘Of course not,’ he said, as if he were placating a recalcitrant child. ‘Now look, I’d rather we—’
‘Out.’ The decanter came up, gripped at its neck by her hand.
‘Evie, you’re really being quite irrational.’ However, not so sure of himself now, he backed up and, his hand shaking a little, placed his glass on the mantelpiece. ‘I’ll return when I’m assured you are feeling more circumspect.’
She gave a ragged cry, hefted the decanter again. Edwin scurried out the parlour door. She watched him snatch his hat and coat from the hallstand and rush outside without another word, leaving the door ajar.
Breath left her in a rush. Good riddance.
She checked the decanter. Not a drop spilled.