Chapter 3

Rutherglen, Australia, April 1868

May Lavender rubbed the back of her hand across her forehead. Although it was April, it was still hot and the sweat was threatening to run down into her eyes. She looked at the long table set out under the veranda. A white cloth had been spread over it, and on it were silver knives and forks, china plates decorated with a pattern of ivy leaves and cut-glass goblets, which sparkled in the evening sunlight. She looked at Maria, the wife of Pedro, her father’s chief vigneron.

‘I think everything is ready.’

‘Ready and waiting,’ Maria responded with a smile. ‘We’ve enough food and drink to satisfy half of Rutherglen.’

‘Sometime it feels as though we’ve invited half of Rutherglen,’ May said. ‘My papa certainly knows how to throw a party!’

‘It’s been a good season. The grapes are all in and it’s time to celebrate,’ Maria said. ‘Now, why don’t you go and change and get ready to receive your guests?’

‘I suppose I had better,’ May agreed. ‘You’re sure you don’t need me to do anything else?’

‘I’ve told you. It’s all ready. Now go! And stop worrying.’

‘Thank you, Maria,’ May said. ‘I don’t know what I’d have done without you. I wouldn’t have known where to begin.’

Until May’s arrival, four months earlier, Maria had been in charge of the domestic arrangements at Freshfields. Three years ago, when George ‘Ginger’ Lavender, newly rich from the gold fields, decided to buy a ‘run’ of land just outside Rutherglen and go into the winery business, he had taken her husband on as his partner and chief adviser. Since he had no wife – as far as anyone knew – it was natural for Maria to act as housekeeper. Then, one day last autumn, he had returned from a trip to Melbourne in the company of a young man with the same flaming red hair and introduced him as his son, Augustus. He had learned that his wife was dead, but he had a daughter of seventeen and he had immediately sent for her to join him. Naturally, May was now the ‘lady of the house’, and Maria was quite prepared to cede her authority to the new arrival, but it had been clear from the start that May had no intention of supplanting her. She had made it abundantly clear that she knew nothing about running a household and was willing to defer to her in all practical matters. In Maria’s experience the mistress of the house was not expected to sully her hands with domestic chores but May had no intention of ‘sitting on a cushion and sewing a fine seam’, whatever her favourite song said. She had shown herself willing to work alongside Maria and had quickly picked up many of the skills required, but Maria understood that, because of her background, she had very little confidence in herself as a hostess.

‘That’s what I’m here for,’ she said now. ‘All you need to do now is smile and look pretty, which will be very easy for you. Off you go.’

May cast a last glance over the table. Her father had invited neighbours from around the area to celebrate the completion of the vendange. A little further away, under the shade of a tree, a second table had been set up for the workers, mostly Chinese, who had been employed to pick the grapes. She had queried this separation when the arrangements were discussed but her father had pointed out that the Chinese preferred their own food and had, in fact, brought their own cook with them. They would be much more at ease, he said, celebrating with their own kind than sitting with the Europeans. Away to the other side of the garden a whole hog was turning on a spit over a bed of charcoal, the appetising smell wafting across the space and bringing the saliva to her mouth. Satisfied that all was in order, she turned away and went up to her bedroom to change.

Waiting there was a girl of fourteen, a slender creature whose arms and legs seemed too long for her body.

May caught her breath on an apologetic gasp. ‘Betsy! I’m so sorry, I didn’t realise you were waiting for me. Have you been here long?’

Betsy shrugged. ‘Not long. ’Bout ten minutes. Thought you’d want to take your time getting ready.’

‘I suppose I should – but I wanted to make sure everything was ready downstairs’

‘No need to worry,’ the girl said. ‘I ’spect Maria’s got it all in hand.’

‘Yes, she has,’ May agreed. ‘It’s just … well, you know I’m not used to this sort of thing.’

‘You’ll be fine,’ Betsy said. ‘Least ways, as long as you’re dressed before the guests arrive.’

‘You’re right. I had better get on. I’ll just wash my face and hands.’

May had greeted the suggestion from her father that she should have a lady’s maid to look after her with laughter.

‘I’ve managed for myself all my life,’ she’d said. ‘I don’t need someone to dress me. There was a time when becoming a lady’s maid myself was the height of my ambition. I wouldn’t know what to do with a maid of my own.’

‘Well, you’re the lady of the house now,’ her father had responded, ‘and you need to dress suitably, at least when you’re in company.’

May had had to recognise the force of that argument, and it was true that dressing herself was not always easy. There were corsets to be tightened, and dresses that buttoned down the back, and doing up her own hair in a fashionable style was something she struggled with. So a compromise was agreed on. Betsy was the daughter of the local draper. Most of the time she worked in the shop, but she was fascinated by fashion and delighted to be given the opportunity to assist in transforming May into the image of the ladies she saw in the fashion plates in her father’s magazines. So on special occasions, like this, she came to help out.

The relationship had been uneasy at first. Betsy made it clear that she was not to be treated as a servant, but when she discovered that May had been in service herself and was not about to put on airs and graces, she relaxed. May shared the same love of colour and design and very quickly a bond was formed between them. Sometimes it seemed to May that they were both engaged in a delightful game of dressing up. There were moments, though, when she felt a pang of guilt. What right had she, a girl brought up in the workhouse, to enjoy such luxury, when others she had grown up with were still living in poverty and servitude?

Her dress for that evening had been laid out ready on the bed. It was a creation of pale-green silk, with a flounced skirt trimmed with rosettes of darker green and drawn back over a bustle to create a short train. It had been made by a dressmaker in Chiltern, a woman who had learned her trade in London and Paris but who had given it all up to follow her husband to the new world. She had been overjoyed when asked to create a new wardrobe for May, who had arrived with only the most basic requirements. May thought this dress was probably the most beautiful she had ever worn.

‘Do you know,’ she said, as Betsy helped her into it, ‘this reminds me a bit of the first proper evening dress I ever had. That was green, too, a bit darker than this, and I made it myself.’

‘You made it? I’d never have dared try that.’

‘It was that or nothing. I couldn’t afford to go to a dressmaker, and even ready-made dresses like that were too expensive. And I have always been good with my needle. That’s how I got my job as a milliner. I altered a dress of Mrs Freeman’s, when I worked for her, to bring it up to date. So I borrowed a sewing machine from the shop and set to work.’

‘Was it for a special occasion?’

‘Yes, it was.’ May paused, caught by a moment of nostalgia. ‘Or it was for me. I’d been invited to a concert by … by a gentleman.’

‘A special gentleman?’ Betsy probed.

‘Very special – at the time.’ May moved away to the dressing table and added, with a sudden change of tone, ‘Come and help me arrange my hair.’

She found it hard to explain to herself, but she had never told anyone in her new home about James, or the reason why she had been so eager to accept her father’s invitation. His letter had promised that he would come to join her as soon as he was free, but she kept the hope to herself. If in the end he did not arrive, there would be no need to explain her disappointment. She could keep her broken heart to herself.

Betsy brushed her hair and parted it in the centre, then coiled the rest into a chignon at the base of May’s neck and fastened it with a circlet of green ribbon, the same as that used for the rosettes on the dress, and small white flowers. May shared the colouring of her father and brother, but in her case it was more subdued, giving her hair the sheen of polished mahogany. When Betsy had finished she stood up and looked at herself in the long mirror on the wall. It was hard to get used to this new, elegant May. Sometimes she hardly recognised herself, but tonight she had to admit that she was pleased with the effect.

‘Will I do?’

Betsy looked at her with her head on one side. She was not given to flattery. ‘It’s a pity you haven’t got a bit more up here—’ she indicated her own bosom ‘—but apart from that … yes. You look pretty good.’

The sound of wheels and horse hooves outside drew May to the window.

‘Goodness, people are here already!’

She looked down. A pony and trap had just drawn up outside the front door, escorted by two young men on horseback. One of them was her brother Gus, and as she watched he swung himself down from the saddle, threw the reins to his companion and went to hand down the occupants of the trap. Watching him, May was suddenly suffused with tender pride. This was the scrawny, pugnacious waif she remembered from their workhouse days, determinedly refusing to accept that ‘lost at sea’ meant drowned and convinced that their father still lived somewhere; the surprisingly tough boy who had come back to her after a year aboard the Confederate ship Shenandoah; the restless youth who had finally decided to seek a new future in Australia. And now look at him! At sixteen he was on the verge of manhood, with the potential for their father’s broad shoulders and capable hands but the lithe grace that must have been their mother’s legacy.

You were the one who had faith, Gus, she thought. You were the one who brought us here. Without you I should still be a milliner’s apprentice – and probably without a job, and without any prospect of marriage.

The passengers in the trap had now all descended. The first was Kitty O’Dowd, the pretty Irish girl whose attractions had played a large part in Gus’s decision to emigrate. After her came her mother, Deidre, her sister Maeve and her father, Patrick. There were two younger ones, but clearly they had been left with a neighbour. Gus and Kitty’s brother, Liam, were now leading their horses round to the stables behind the house. May shook herself out of her reverie and hurried downstairs to greet her guests.

Very quickly the rest of the guests began to arrive. Many of them were fellow vignerons who had come from various parts of Europe to try their hand at establishing vineyards. Predominant among them were families of German origin. There were the Ruches, the very first to set up in Rutherglen, and the Voherrs and the Schluters. There were English families too, the Lindsey Browns and the Chambers. Not everyone was involved in the wine trade. There was the Scot, John Wallace, owner of the Star Hotel, one of the best in Rutherglen, and the American Hiram Crawford, who had set up a coaching firm in the nearby town of Chiltern. It was, May’s father had declared with pride, the cream of local society.

In the flurry of greetings May had no time to think about correct protocol. She had presided over one or two small dinner parties since her arrival, but this was the first large gathering and an important occasion. She had worried that she might not know how to conduct the formalities in the way other people would expect. But she need not have concerned herself. The rigid rules governing behaviour that applied in the society of Victorian Liverpool no longer held sway here. The atmosphere was relaxed and people mingled easily.

Very soon they were all seated and tucking into slices of roast pork with potatoes baked in the ashes, washed down with copious amounts of the previous year’s vintage. Maria had drawn on her Spanish heritage to create a dish of sweet red peppers baked with tomatoes and stuffed aubergines. The vegetables were bought from a Chinese man who had given up on the hunt for gold and planted a market garden. May had never seen many of the things he grew before she left England, but the new flavours and colours made food very appealing to someone brought up on workhouse gruel and lobscouse. Afterwards there were jellies in jewel-like colours and sweet pastries and bowls of ripe peaches and bunches of purple grapes. All her life May had found that colour and scent combined to produce something almost like music to her senses, and tonight she was treated to a veritable orchestra of sensations.

During normal family meals May always helped out with the fetching and carrying and never expected to be waited on, but for this occasion her father had employed some local girls as waitresses. Under Maria’s supervision the service proceeded smoothly, but May constantly had to suppress the urge to get up and clear the empty dishes or fetch something from the kitchen. As the meal progressed, however, she began to relax and enjoy chatting to the people on either side of her. The ages of the guests varied, as might be expected, but the senior members had been given the positions of honour to her left and right, or beside her father who presided at the other end of the table. But she couldn’t help her eyes being drawn to the middle of the table, where the younger guests were seated, and in particular to a young man who belonged to one of the German families; she could not remember which. He had blond hair and a nose and chin chiselled with almost classical precision, and she found her gaze returning to him so often that she had to take herself to task. ‘You are engaged to be married! You have no business eyeing another man …’ Or was she engaged, in reality?

One convention of European society was still observed, and when the meal was over the men sat back and lit cigars, and May led the ladies back into the house and seated them in the drawing room. Most of them knew each other well from previous social gatherings and they chatted easily, but May was still a novelty and she found herself being eagerly questioned, not so much about herself as about what was happening in England. Was it true that the Queen was still in deep mourning for Prince Albert and was very rarely seen in public? What was all this about a Reform Act that allowed ordinary men to vote? What were the latest fashions? Only the last question was one she felt herself competent to answer. It was a relief when a violin struck up outside and the ladies rose as one and headed for the windows.

‘Oh, music! Who is that playing?’

‘It’s Patrick O’Dowd. He’s brilliant on his fiddle. Should you like to go and listen?’

‘Oh yes! Let us join the gentlemen. They shouldn’t have all the fun.’

Outside, the men had left the table and were strolling in the garden. Patrick was perched on a stool in the centre of a group of younger people, including Gus.

‘Come on, Kitty! Dance for us!’ Gus begged. Then to the others, ‘You should see how they dance. Feet twinkling and the rest of them almost still. Show them, Kitty!’

After the request had been repeated in different voices, Kitty and her sister stood up and began to dance, to an accompaniment of ‘oohs’ and ‘ahs’ and finally loud applause. Then someone else produced an accordion and Patrick struck up a reel and other people began to dance. When the reel was finished a contingent of the Germans took over to demonstrate their own style of dancing, with much knee and foot slapping. After that, someone said, ‘Can’t we have something we can all dance to?’ and the accordionist began to play a waltz.

May was watching from the margins of the group, content that everyone seemed to be enjoying themselves. She was taken by surprise when a voice just behind her said, ‘Miss Lavender, may I have the pleasure of this dance?’ It was the German boy she had been watching earlier, and close up he was even more handsome than she had thought.

Disconcerted, she stammered, ‘Oh no, I don’t dance. I never learned how.’

‘Really?’ His expression suggested that he did not believe her.

‘Yes, really. I wasn’t … I didn’t grow up among people who thought that was important.’

‘What a shame! Dancing is a great pleasure. But it’s not too late to learn. I can teach you.’

His manner was serious and his look seemed to suggest that he was truly concerned that she should not be deprived of one of life’s pleasures. She felt it would be impolite to refuse. He led her a little away from the rest and put his arm round her waist. A shiver of mixed surprise and pleasure ran through her nerves and she almost pulled away.

‘Like this,’ he said, taking her hand in his free one. ‘Now, your hand on my shoulder. So! Now we step: one, two, three, one, two, three. There, you see? We are dancing.’

And so they were, to May’s surprise. She had discovered when she was walking out with James that she loved music of any kind, and now something in her responded to the rhythms of the waltz. She forgot how strange it seemed to have a stranger’s arm around her waist and began to enjoy herself.

After that, one or two of the other young men came to ask her to dance and she found herself learning the movements of the cotillion and the polonaise. But when another waltz struck up, her German partner claimed her again.

‘It’s very silly of me,’ she confessed, ‘but I don’t remember your name.’

He smiled at her. ‘Why should you, among so many? It’s Anton, Anton Schloer. My father owns the St Nicholas vineyard, which runs beside your father’s land.’

Guests were beginning to drift away and May excused herself to say goodbye to them. Finally, everyone had departed, leaving her to survey the garden littered with cigar butts and empty glasses. She was collecting them up when her father came out of the house.

‘Leave them! We’ll clear it all up in the morning.’ He stretched and yawned. ‘I don’t know about you, my dear, but I’m ready for bed.’

May realised for the first time that she was very tired.

‘Yes, you’re right,’ she agreed.

He put his hand on her shoulder. ‘I was proud of you tonight. You look beautiful and no man could ask for a better hostess. Did you enjoy yourself?’

May was surprised to find that the answer came very easily. ‘Yes, Papa. I did.’

‘Good.’ He kissed her forehead and went back into the house.

Gus came round from the stable yard. ‘Ah, sis! I saw you dancing. Glad to see you haven’t quite decided to join a nunnery.’

‘I don’t know what you mean!’ she protested.

‘Well, I was beginning to think you’d lost all interest in the opposite sex.’

‘That’s not … I mean …’ she stammered to a halt.

‘He’s a good bloke, Anton. You could do a lot worse.’

‘Don’t be ridiculous. It was just a couple of dances.’

‘So far, but who knows?’

‘Oh, leave off, Gus! I don’t want to talk about it.’

‘You’re not still pining after that toffee-nosed solicitor chap, are you?’ he demanded.

‘I’m not pining after anyone!’ she snapped. ‘Mind your own business, Gus. I’m going to bed.’

Freshfields

Rutherglen,

Victoria

July 1st 1868

Dear Patty,

I was so pleased to get your letter, with your wonderful news. I remember you made me a cake for my birthday last year. It was absolutely delicious, although I know you had to scrounge the ingredients from whatever you could find in the store room! I’m sure all the things you are baking now will be even better, and I’m so proud of you. You really deserve a lucky break. I wish I could visit Freeman’s, just to take tea in your new tea shop.

I promised to write and tell you more about my new life here. It’s hard to know where to begin. Australia is so different from anything I ever knew before and I feel that I am different too. When I think of myself in the orphanage or when I worked for Mrs Freeman, scrubbing and polishing from dawn to midnight, I can hardly believe that was the same person. The fact is, I am a lady of leisure, or I could be, if I wanted to. I don’t want to, though, and I do my best to make myself useful, but we have a housekeeper, Maria, who is a wonderful cook and terribly efficient, so all I can do is help out where I can. My father and Gus are busy all the time with the vineyard, but there is nothing I can do to help there. I sometimes think I should like to go back to making hats, but I don’t think my father would approve of that.

I have taken up painting again. Do you remember, James encouraged me to try, back in Liverpool? And I do get a great deal of pleasure from it. There are so many marvellous things here to paint. The animals are extraordinary, and they are much less shy than most of the wild animals in England. Kangaroos will not stay still while you sketch them, of course, but there are lovely little creatures called koala bears who just sit in the eucalyptus trees all day and hardly move at all. They are not really bears, but they have the same sort of round cuddly look as teddy bears. My favourite subjects are the birds. I have never seen so many brilliantly coloured birds. There are different kinds of parrots, with red and blue or orange and green and yellow feathers, and tiny little fairy wrens with glistening blue breasts. We have a lake at the end of our property and on that there are kingfishers, which flash by so quickly that they look like a streak of blue lightening, and cormorants that stand stock still holding their wings out to dry in the sun, and black swans – yes, black ones. This is ‘down under’, of course. So it’s not surprising that things are a bit topsy-turvy!

So, let me tell you a bit about Rutherglen itself. It is only here because gold was found here about ten years ago in what was called the Wahgunyah gold rush. It didn’t last long, and now most of the gold has gone, but by then people had settled here and found other things to do. There is a river called the Indigo Creek and the soil is very fertile, so apart from vineyards there are market gardens growing all sorts of fruit and vegetables that I had never seen in Liverpool. They are also growing tobacco round here, and we have a flour mill and a brewery and several hotels. People have set up all sorts of businesses to supply the needs of the people who have settled here, so we have a draper’s shop and a blacksmith, and of course a butcher and a general store that sells almost anything you could ever need.

There are other towns nearby too. Beechworth is the main one. It has a post office and banks and a court house and a police station and a hospital.

Did I tell you that Gus has a sweetheart? She’s an Irish girl called Kitty, who came out with her family on the same ship as he did. In fact, I think that is the main reason why he decided to come to Australia. Her father is a cobbler and bootmaker, and has set up in business in Chiltern. Gus rides over to see them whenever he can get away. He has taken to riding a horse as if he was born to it!

It may seem odd to you that so many of the towns have English names. I suppose it was because when the first settlers arrived this part of Australia reminded them of home. There is one quite amusing story about how Rutherglen got its name. There is a man called John Wallace, a Scotsman who owns a chain of hotels called Star Hotels. When he opened one here this place still didn’t have a name. From what I have been told, a group of men were gathered in the bar and the subject came up and someone suggested that if Mr Wallace would ‘shout’ everyone a drink he could call it whatever he liked. (Out here, to shout someone means to give them something without paying for it.) So he bought them all a beer and called the place after the town where he was born in Scotland. I think that is rather charming, don’t you?

We have quite a good social life here. There are dances most weekends in the local hotels and parties on the various wine estates. Everyone mixes very easily here and there is none of the snobbery we have in England. No one cares where you come from or who your family are, or whether you are a professional or in trade – though I have heard it said that in Melbourne people who came out here of their own accord look down on those who were transported, like my father. Luckily that doesn’t seem to apply here. I have been learning to dance, and I quite enjoy it but there is a problem. There are a great many unmarried men here and few single women, so I never lack for dancing partners, but I know some of them would like to be more than that. I try not to give them expectations that can never be realised but I’m afraid they are beginning to think me very cold and stand-offish. I haven’t told anyone about James, not even Papa. I truly believe he will keep his promise and come to join me when he is able, but sometimes I wonder why he should give up the comfortable life he could have in Liverpool and risk starting again in an unknown country. If anything happened, and he did not come, I couldn’t bear everyone knowing and feeling sorry for me. Gus knew him, back in Liverpool of course, but he never really approved of me walking out with him and I think now he believes it is all over. But going back to the men who ask me to dance – I cannot say I am engaged, because in truth we never were, so I cannot explain why I try to keep my distance. Gus gets annoyed with me sometimes. He thinks I am missing the chance of a good marriage. I wish James could be here! Everything would be so much simpler then.

I really must stop going on about my problems. The fact is I am one of the luckiest people alive and I should be grateful. And I am – truly!

Write as soon as you can and tell me how your wonderful new venture is going. How does it feel to be in charge, and not having to take orders from anyone else?

With love from,

May