Chapter 17

Rutherglen, November 1869

Richard replied to James’s letter, reiterating his view that Amy must learn to ‘rub along’ with all sorts of people and ‘take the rough with the smooth’. He added that as he could see no alternative they would all have to make the best of what was available. He wrote to Amy as well, telling her to be brave and promising to be back at Christmas with a special present for her.

May followed up on her first initiative by volunteering to go into the school on one morning a week to teach drawing. Her first attempt was frustrated by the discovery that the school was unable to provide either drawing paper or sufficient pencils for the whole class. The next week she took her own supplies and found a mixed reception. Most of the children were only too glad to have a break from the daily routine of spelling tests and multiplication tables, but some of the older boys saw it as an opportunity to lark about, making paper darts and drawing obscene images. After that, with Miss Clark’s agreement, she instituted a new regime in which admission to her class was a privilege based on good behaviour. Those excluded would spend their time doing extra maths. From then on the classes proceeded peacefully and May took the opportunity, while the children were sketching, to chat to them about their homes, their hobbies, their hopes for the future and anything else that occurred to her.

In return, they grew in confidence sufficiently to ask her about England and her life there. One day one of the girls remarked that although drawing was enjoyable she could not see that it would ever be useful. May hesitated a moment, then took the plunge.

‘Listen. If I had not learned to draw, I would not be here now. I should probably be working as a scullery maid in someone else’s house.’

‘You, ma’am?’ There was a disbelieving laugh.

‘It’s true,’ May said. ‘I was once very poor, poorer than any of you, and I had to work as a maid in a house where I had to scrub and sweep from dawn to dusk and never got enough to eat. It was only because the master of the house saw some of my designs and realised I had some talent that I got a position as a milliner’s apprentice. And that was how I met Mr Breckenridge.’

‘How, miss?’ one of the girls asked.

‘I used to make hats for his mother.’

There was a silence while they digested this amazing revelation. Then one of them said, ‘But your pa’s a rich man.’

‘He is now. But he wasn’t then. But that goes to show that life can change for all of us, if we take the chances we are given – and work hard to make the most of them. So don’t miss any chances you get.’

After that Amy reported a change in the other children’s attitude towards her.

‘Is it true?’ one girl had asked. ‘Your ma was a poor girl once?’

‘She’s not my ma. My ma’s dead,’ she had replied. ‘But it’s true, yes. ’Course it is.’

The incident set May thinking about how she and James and Amy were perceived in the town. Some of the older inhabitants knew her father’s history. He was far from the only one who had survived transportation to make a success of life in Australia. Many of the others, though, must see her as the daughter of a rich man, married to another successful professional gentleman, living a life of ease and luxury. She knew her pupils would have carried her story home with them, and was glad that now they knew the truth – or some of it, at least. She had chosen not to mention her early years in the workhouse.

No one had been told about Amy’s early life, either. Her father had decided when they arrived that it would be better for her to start ‘with a clean sheet’ as he put it. James had argued that she had done nothing to be ashamed of and Richard had countered with the remark that being expelled from her convent school, however excusable the circumstances, was hardly a recommendation. Moreover, her short career on the variety stage might give rise to various preconceptions. So it had been decided to say nothing.

It soon became apparent that this secrecy, too, had its drawbacks. One day Amy came home from school red-eyed and tear-stained. May greeted her with a sinking feeling in her stomach.

‘What has happened now, sweetheart?’

‘Miss Clark says I’m a liar.’

‘Why is she saying that?’

‘In class today she asked each of us to stand up and talk for one minute about something we had done that made us feel happy. One of the girls talked about rescuing a kitten that was stuck up a tree, and another one talked about making a birthday cake for her brother, and one of the boys talked about helping a cow to give birth to a calf …’ she wrinkled her nose ‘ … I didn’t like that. It was disgusting. Then Miss Clark told me to stand up. So I talked about walking onto the stage for the first time, and being really frightened, and then hearing everyone cheering and clapping at the end.’

‘So, what was wrong with that?’

‘She wanted to know when it had happened, so I told her I was a professional singer, part of a company that performed in music halls in Ireland. And she said she had asked for a true story, not a fantasy. And when I said it was true, she accused me of making it up to make myself seem special. And she sent me to sit outside the door until I was ready to apologise.’

‘I hope you didn’t!’

‘No! Why should I? It’s the truth.’

‘So what happened?’

‘It was home time by then. She said tomorrow I’d have to sit outside until I changed my mind.’

‘Oh lord!’ May sighed. ‘Just as I thought things were really getting better.’ She hugged Amy. ‘Don’t worry, darling. You haven’t done anything wrong. I’ll go and talk to Miss Clark. She’s probably still at the school. I’ll go now.’

The way to the school was uphill, and the heat that day was ferocious. By the time she arrived May was sweating and feeling slightly dizzy. The teacher was sitting at her desk, marking papers, and looked up with alarm as May marched in.

‘Oh, Mrs Breckenridge! You shouldn’t have bothered to come up here in this heat. I suppose Amy has told you about our little disagreement. But I’m sure she will have come to her senses by tomorrow. A vivid imagination is all very well, but she must learn to distinguish fact from fiction.’

May propped herself against one of the desks. ‘That is the point, Miss Clark. What Amy told the class was absolutely true. For a few months, a year ago, she did belong to a variety company. You probably don’t know it, but she has a really beautiful singing voice and she was more or less the star of the show.’

‘Are you sure? It isn’t just something she has made up?’

‘Of course I’m sure!’ May responded irritably. ‘I can’t go into all the details of why and how, but please take my word for it that it is true.’

‘Well, if you say so …’ Miss Clark looked at her doubtfully.

May heaved herself upright. ‘So tomorrow, I think you need to apologise to Amy for doubting her.’

‘Apologise?’

‘Why not? You wanted her to apologise to you. Now the boot is on the other foot.’

‘Well, I don’t know. I’ll have to think …’

‘You do that. I think I need to sit down …’ The feeling of dizziness had grown worse and May found herself swaying on her feet. For a moment her vision darkened and she felt she might fall. Dimly she was aware of Miss Clark holding her up and guiding her into her own chair, then a cup of water was held to her lips.

‘I’ll call someone,’ the teacher was saying.

‘No. No need …’ May protested, but realised that she was alone. She closed her eyes and allowed herself to drift into a semi-conscious state.

Her husband’s voice roused her. ‘May? Darling, are you all right? No, of course you’re not. Don’t worry. I’m here now. I’ll call Dr West.’

May sat up and opened her eyes. ‘No, don’t do that. I’ll be fine in a moment. It was just the heat.’

‘Are you sure?’

‘Quite sure. Just let me get home.’

He insisted on sending a boy running to Freshfields to ask them to send the trap for her, and flatly refused to let her walk home. Minutes later Gus was there, worried and embarrassed in equal measure, muttering, ‘She’s not going to pup right here, is she?’

Back in the house, May lay down with a cold compress on her forehead, while Lizzie reassured the two men and got the dinner on the table. Later James tiptoed into the room to ask if she needed anything. When she assured him that all she needed was rest he asked, ‘What on earth where you thinking of, trekking up there in the heat of the day?’

She explained what had happened to Amy and her consequent conversation with Miss Clark, and he immediately proposed to go up to the school and give that lady a piece of his mind.

‘Don’t, dearest,’ May pleaded. ‘She knows now that she was wrong. But really, you can’t blame her for disbelieving Amy’s story. It must have sounded quite improbable.’

‘I suppose you are right,’ he conceded. ‘Anyway, I suppose the story is all round the town by now.’

‘I expect it is,’ May agreed. ‘But I’m glad. I feel we have been living under false pretences since we came here – well, not you. You’re the genuine article, but Amy and I have both got secrets in our past that mean we are not quite what people take us for.’

‘I don’t see why that matters. Neither of you have anything to be ashamed of.’

‘I’m not ashamed. But that’s my point. I grew up in the workhouse and by luck and a bit of hard work I have ended up here. I wake up every morning and I can’t quite believe how lucky I am. But I’m not a lady, and I never shall be.’

James bent down and kissed her. ‘You’re every bit a lady, from the top of your head to the tips of your toes, and it doesn’t matter where you grew up. That’s what I like about this place. People don’t give a damn about where you came from or who your family are. It’s what you do that matters.’

‘Really, James,’ she murmured, ‘you’re letting the locals corrupt you. Your language is becoming quite coarse.’ But she smiled as she said it.

Several weeks passed after that without incident. Amy reported that she was now the object of much curiosity and some admiration, and Lizzie said she could be seen holding court with a little group of friends, all agog to hear tales of her theatrical experiences.

Twice a week Gus drove Amy over to Chiltern for her regular music lessons. It was a duty he accepted willingly, since it allowed him to spend the hour with Kitty. Lizzie usually went with them and sat on Mrs Franklyn’s porch, listening as Amy went through her pieces and practised her songs. One evening she came home with a look that suggested she had a problem on her mind.

When Amy had gone to bed, she said, ‘Mrs Franklyn asked to speak to me privately this afternoon.’

‘Oh, what now?’ May asked with a groan. ‘Amy hasn’t upset her, too, has she?’

‘No. It’s quite the reverse really,’ Lizzie replied. ‘She told Amy to go on practising and came to sit with me on the porch. She’s very pleased with Amy’s progress, but that’s part of the problem. She says she can take her on to a higher level with her piano but she really feels she is not qualified to teach her singing.’

‘Why not?’ May asked. ‘Amy sings like a bird. I don’t see that she needs much teaching.’

‘That’s more or less what I said,’ Lizzie agreed. ‘But it seems it’s not that simple. Mrs Franklyn thinks that if she gets the right training she may have a great future ahead of her as a singer.’

‘Professionally, you mean?’

‘Apparently.’

‘But I don’t think that’s what her father has in mind for her. Is it what she wants, do you think?’

‘I don’t know. She enjoyed her time with the music hall people, but I don’t think it has ever occurred to her that she might go back to it.’

‘I’m sure Richard wouldn’t like the idea of her racketing about with people like that,’ May said.

‘I got the impression that that wasn’t what was in Mrs Franklyn’s mind. She said something about a serious musical career.’

‘Does she mean opera? Or oratorio? That kind of thing?’

‘I really don’t know.’

May cast her mind back to concerts she had attended with James in Liverpool. Sometimes they had featured singers, often singing arias from operas, and she remembered feeling great admiration for them. ‘I suppose,’ she said doubtfully, ‘if it was something like that, something … respectable Richard might allow it. But surely it’s far too early to even think about it.’

‘What Mrs Franklyn said was that Amy’s voice is a precious gift, but if it is overused, or used in the wrong way, it could be spoilt. She says there are techniques that she needs to learn, so that she doesn’t damage it.’

‘And she can’t teach her those techniques?’

‘She says she’s not qualified to do that. She’s a piano teacher, not a singing teacher.’

‘Does she know anyone who is?’

‘Apparently not. She says the nearest person she can think of is in Melbourne.’

‘Melbourne? Well, that’s out of the question. It’s two days’ journey away.’

‘Yes, I know.’

‘So how did you leave things?’

‘She will continue with Amy’s lessons as long as we want her to. But she wants us to make enquiries about getting her some proper tuition.’

May sighed. ‘Well, we can ask. But if she doesn’t know anyone, I don’t see that we are likely to find someone.’