Lunch at the Tearoom
The fairy wrens chittered above in the eucalypts as Emma sat shelling peas for dinner. The verandah overlooking the river was her favourite spot. Below her, bare foot, their trouser legs rolled up to the knees, Darcy, and his friend Jemmy were catching water striders and tadpoles at the river’s edge. Or trying to. It seemed to Emma they were having more fun just getting wet and dirty. Jemmy’s mother would not be impressed. Fortunately, he was staying for dinner so there would be time for him to get cleaned up and dried off before Abe escorted him around the corner to his home.
“Missus.”
“Ah Sing, how are you?” Emma put down her bowl and stood to greet the Chinese man who had stopped at the corner of the verandah. A basket of vegetables hung from his shoulder. Ah Sing worked a market garden two streets over by the Campaspe River with an older Chinese man, and Ah Lo, the Mary B’s cook. Henrietta, and most of the nearby residents, got their vegetables from them.
“Janey,” she called through the open doorway.
Janey appeared from inside the house as Ah Sing approached and dropped the basket to the verandah floor. She checked the contents.
“Cabbage, carrots, pumpkin, potatoes, and lettuce. Good.”
She took the basket of vegetables inside to empty as Darcy and Jemmy came running up carrying a jar of water with a dozen tiddlers inside.
Ah Sing sat on the bottom of the verandah steps and took the jar that was handed to him. A discussion followed as Ah Sing examined their catch. Jemmy wanted to take the jar home to show his mother and younger brother what he’d caught, while Darcy wanted to take it to show at school. Jemmy objected. He didn’t attend the Grammar School. It was left to Ah Sing to have the final word.
“Put back,” Emma heard him tell the boys. “They grow. Big. You eat.”
“Do you fish, Ah Sing?” Emma asked, as the boys dashed back down the riverbank to do as they’d been told. She wished Darcy moved as quickly at her word. Ah Sing nodded. “I’ll buy a Murray cod from you if you have one to sell. Nice and fresh, mind.”
“Yes, yes. I catch,” he agreed, bobbing his head.
“Lovely.”
She enjoyed the thick white steaks of Murray cod. Perhaps she could get Abe to try some fishing. Janey returned with Ah Sing’s empty basket, and he went on his way.
The last rays of the sun slanted over the water before winking out, but the swallows had taken over the trees for the night and their chatter would go on for ages. Emma had the fanciful idea they were discussing their day. They hadn’t long returned from wintering in the north. Emma called the boys in to get cleaned up for dinner.
Inside, Abe had finished whitewashing the hall ceiling, covering the dirty yellow tone it had gotten from many smokey fires, and half of one long wall was now a soft blue, achieved by adding washing blue to the whitewash mixture. It was a time-consuming job, as the whitewash mixture had to be made up every hour and put on quickly. Abe had done well.
"Will Dad be home in the morning when I wake up?” Darcy asked eagerly, as Emma helped into bed later.
Emma smiled down at him, ruffling his dark hair affectionately. He looked very much like his father.
"No, Darcy, not until after you’re home from school.”
“Oh-hh. Can I stay home to wait for him? He could be here sooner.”
“No, sweetheart, you need to go to school tomorrow.”
“Pleeaase,” Darcy whined.
“The telegraph from Swan Hill said late tomorrow, Darce. Daddy will be here to tuck you into bed tomorrow night. Think about that as you go to sleep. Tomorrow will come so-o much quicker.”
Darcy hugged the stuffed cockatoo her half-sister, Nella, had made for him and closed his eyes tightly. Emma smiled as she kissed his forehead.
“Sweet dreams.”
Two weeks were a long time when you were seven years old, and Daniel’s trips down river often took longer when there were holdups with loading the wool, or some mechanical problem, or, heaven forbid, an accident. Emma took the candle with her and quietly closed the door. She knew all about accidents.
When she returned to the kitchen, Janey was finishing the washing up and Abe was at the table mending the heel on her best pair of boots, one of which had come loose on her walk today.
“Will you be able to finish painting the hall tomorrow?” Emma asked him.
“Depends. You shop tomorrow?”
Having the hall finished before Daniel came home was important to her. “I suppose we could have some of the shopping delivered and get a cab home with the rest. Yes, we’ll do that,” she decided. “You stay and finish the painting. Janey and I will deal with the shopping by ourselves tomorrow.”
Abe looked up and grinned, his smile a bright slice in his brown face. Emma gave a wry grin and shook her head at him. If Abe disliked any job, it was going with her and Janey to do the weekly shop.
Emma pushed open the door to the Primrose Tearoom. Henrietta had updated the decor several times since she’d first visited the place, a decade ago. The walls were still painted a soft blue but gone were the floral curtains and red gingham tablecloths. The tables were now covered in a plain dark blue and the curtains were striped, blue, yellow, and white. It still demonstrated Henrietta’s eclectic taste, but in a more elegant manner.
Today, the Primrose was busy with ladies taking their midday lunch, many with bags of shopping on the floor beside their chair. Janet greeted Emma and Janey from behind the counter where she was dealing with a customer.
She’d put on weight since having her two children, but was still pretty, with a high forehead and dark hair in a soft arrangement, loosely pinned at the back. She was wearing her usual work uniform of a white pinafore over a simple grey dress. Janet and Henrietta looked alike, but Henrietta favoured a more severe look with her hair pulled back into a low bun.
“There’s a table available in the far corner,” Janet told her. “I’ll be over in a minute to take your order.”
Emma smiled at her friend and thanked her. Several ladies nodded to her as she crossed the room. She vaguely recognised their faces. They must have been at the Society’s meeting yesterday.
There was also the odd glance at Janey. Not many ladies took lunch with their maid, especially a dark-skinned one. Emma knew she would be considered odd in that respect, but people would just have to accept it, as far as she was concerned. And if they didn’t, that was their concern, too. She still thanked her lucky stars that Janey and Abe had moved to Echuca with her. It had been like bringing a piece of Wirramilla with her.
They tucked their bags of shopping out of the way in the corner and took their seats. A light lunch was in order. They were having roast lamb with all the trimmings tonight. Unless Ah Sing kept his promise and delivered a Murray cod. Such largesse.
“I’ll just have the tomato soup and a sandwich, with tea,” she said.
Janey nodded. “Me too. And scones?” Even Janey admired Henrietta’s light fruit scones.
“Alright, and scones,” Emma agreed.
She glanced up as Old Mr. Pickles, Janet’s grandfather, passed their table to take his seat at the one by the window with the single chair. His table. He was wearing a woollen coat which surprised her on such a mild day and, while he did unbutton it, he didn’t take it off. As he removed his hat, Emma couldn’t help but notice how frail he was looking. His white hair had thinned, showing the pink scalp beneath, and there were dark circles under his eyes. She supposed he must be around eighty years old. Certainly, his children, Nathaniel, and Charity, had to be in their late forties.
Her thoughts were interrupted by Janet’s arrival at their table.
“Daniel not home yet?” Janet asked after taking their order.
“He’s due later today,” Emma replied. “How are the children?”
Janet rolled her eyes. “Alex has taken Colin to the livery stable with him today. Winnie doesn’t seem able to manage him at all. If you hear of someone else looking for a nanny’s job, do let me know. Please.”
Emma said she would, though she had no idea if she could help at all. Janet turned to leave but not before hesitating and casting a look at her grandfather. Emma couldn’t see her face, but she saw Janey frown before Janet hurried off to see to their lunch order.
“What?” Emma asked.
“Somethin’s botherin’ her.”
“She just said she’s having trouble with the nanny.”
“No. Somethin’ about him.” Janey indicated with her head in the direction of Old Mr. Pickles.
“Well, that’s hardly surprising. He’s not looking well.”
“So why didn’t she go speak to him?”
“Probably because she knew he wouldn’t want to be fussed over,” Emma replied.
Old Mr. Pickles was a reserved, austere man. Emma had reason to feel grateful to him for one occasion years ago, but she’d only seen him in passing since settling in town. He’d never acknowledged her, and she doubted he remembered her from her time as a temporary resident at the Pickles boarding house. His daughter Charity certainly remembered.
She realised Janey had that baleful look on her face when she felt she knew better.
“Have you heard something?” Emma asked her now. She didn’t need Janey getting uppity with her. She needed a calm and smoothly run home with Daniel arriving later today.
“His other daughter is visitin’.” Janey said.
Emma frowned as she tried to recall the name. “Grace?”
Janey shrugged. Yes, Grace. She hadn’t met her, but Janet had spoken of her aunt, who was recently widowed. She wondered if Grace’s name fitted her better than Charity’s did.
“And her daughter, and her man,” Janey added.
Another granddaughter? Surely that hadn’t put Janet out of sorts with her grandfather, but who knew what really went on in other families. There were enough undercurrents in her own.
Henrietta delivered their lunch but didn’t linger beyond their usual exchange of greetings. The Tearoom was busy. She heard a grunted ‘thank you’ from Old Mr. Pickles as the waitress, Alice, delivered his lunch. Were neither Henrietta nor Janet on speaking terms with him at the moment? Perhaps he was out of sorts, his visitors upsetting his orderly life.
Lunch was a pleasant respite, but it was time they were getting on home. She hoped Abe had finished painting the hall and hadn’t found something to distract him. Old Mr. Pickles was leaving the Tearoom as Emma was paying her bill. She was about to follow when she noticed he had stopped right outside and was speaking to someone. It was Henry Collins. She didn’t want to encounter the man.
She turned back toward the counter, bumping into Janey who was right behind her, causing her to drop the bag of groceries she was carrying. A green bottle of Worcestershire Sauce and several packets of barley spilled out. Fortunately, nothing burst open. As Janey bent to pick them up Emma pretended to consider the items in the display cabinet on the counter, acting as if the mishap with the shopping had nothing to do with her.
“Did you want something?” Janet asked.
Emma glanced over her shoulder. The men were still there.
“No, I’m trying to avoid someone.”
“Grandfather? Why would you want to avoid my Grandfather?”
“No, Henry Collins. Tell me when he’s gone.”
Janet giggled. “What have you been up to?”
“Ask your mother.”
“You can go now. Coast’s clear,” Janet said, and turned to serve another customer.
Emma opened the door and stepped out in time to see the two men walking up the street together. She and Janey walked the few yards to the Shamrock Hotel next door and hired Mr. Crowley’s hansom cab standing at the kerb.
As they rolled down the street, she wondered what connection Henry Collins had with Old Mr. Pickles. Collins had looked annoyed when he spoke to the older man. She wouldn’t have given them much thought except for Delia Rasmussen’s comment yesterday.