Chapter 19

Rutherglen, December 1869

Almost the entire population of Rutherglen went to church on Sunday, if not as a matter of religious faith, as a matter of social convention. Most of them attended St Stephen’s, whose bell tower had decorated the skyline since it had been built five years previously. The adults went to matins and the children went to Sunday School. After her first few attendances Amy had pronounced that she much preferred that to the religious instruction she had had at the convent school.

‘At the convent we had to learn our catechism. It was lots of questions about things I didn’t understand and when I asked what it meant, Mother Scholastica got angry with me. She said it was matter of faith and called me a little heathen. But in Sunday School Mrs Swan just reads us stories from the bible and tells us that Jesus loves us.’

November gave way to December and one Sunday Amy re-joined her family with shining eyes. ‘We’re going to do a nativity play. And I’m the Angel Gabriel.’

‘You are?’ May said, ‘That’s wonderful. You see? I always knew you were an angel.’

Amy giggled. ‘Not a real angel, silly. Only pretending.’

‘I’m sure you will pretend splendidly,’ James said. ‘But didn’t you want to be Mary?’

‘Oh no,’ Amy assured him. ‘Angel Gabriel’s a much better part.’

James caught May’s eye. ‘She has an instinct for the theatrical. There’s no doubt about it.’

That evening James remarked, ‘One thing I really miss here is the concerts we used to go to back in Liverpool.’

‘Oh, so do I!’ May agreed. ‘Do you remember that wonderful carol concert you took me to at the Philharmonic Hall?’

‘Of course I do. It was our first date. I wonder … there must be similar things happening in Melbourne. How do you fancy a few days there?’

‘That would be wonderful!’

‘Amy would be all right here, with Lizzie to look after her.’

‘Of course she would.’

‘I’ll look into it.’

Next day he came in waving the local paper. ‘Melbourne Choral Society are giving the Messiah on December the seventeenth. What about it?’

‘Oh, yes, please,’ May responded. ‘I’ve never heard the Messiah all through.’

‘I’ll see if I can get tickets.’

As it happened they had been invited to spend the evening at Freshfields, and in the course of the conversation James mentioned their plan.

Maria stared at him. ‘Are you mad! May can’t go to Melbourne in her condition.’

‘I’m expecting a baby,’ May protested. ‘I’m not ill.’

‘Two days, jouncing about in a coach, over these roads? Do you want to lose the baby?’

‘Maria’s right,’ her father said. ‘It’s too much of a risk.’

James looked at his wife with an expression of contrition. ‘May, I’m so sorry! Of course, Maria’s right. I was being thoughtless.’ Then, seeing her disappointment, he reached out and took her hand. ‘Next year. We’ll do it next year, I promise.’

May tried to hide her feelings but she had been looking forward so much to the proposed visit and it was hard to have it snatched away again. Over the next days a mood of lassitude crept over her. Christmas celebrations in the mid-summer heat had always felt wrong and suddenly the preparations seemed pointless. She began to spend a good deal of time stretched out on a daybed in the shade of the veranda, dozing or gazing into space. Even Amy’s excited accounts of rehearsals for the nativity play failed to rouse her.

James and Lizzie grew increasingly worried, until one evening he came home with a new sparkle in his eyes. ‘Listen, my darling. I know you’re really disappointed about the concert in Melbourne, but I can offer you a substitute. It won’t come up to the same standard, but I still think it’s worth doing. We are going to have our own carol concert, here in Rutherglen.’

‘How?’ May asked, sitting up.

‘I’ve talked to the minister and the other church wardens and they are all enthusiastic about the idea. We’ll advertise for volunteers to form a choir. And it seems that they already have one in Chiltern and are preparing their own concert. I thought we could invite them to come and join us. Local people will be glad to put them up for a night afterwards. We can make it a real celebration. What do you think?’

May smiled at him fondly. ‘I think it’s a wonderful idea – and I know you’re doing it mostly for my sake. Thank you, darling.’

‘Well,’ he said, ‘I admit that’s why I suggested the idea in the first place, but now the more I think about it the more excited I am. It could be a real community effort and make this Christmas special for a lot of people.’

‘There’s just a couple of things that occur to me,’ May said. ‘You will need an accompanist, for a start.’

‘I thought we might ask Mrs Franklyn. We could put her up here after every rehearsal.’

‘Well, she might do it, I suppose. But there’s the other question. Who is going to conduct and be the musical director?’

James looked slightly uncomfortable. ‘I’ve volunteered myself for the job. I know I haven’t got any formal training, but I’ve always loved music and I know a wrong note when I hear one. Do you think I’m being presumptuous?’

May took his hand. ‘No, my dear, I don’t. If anyone can pull this off it’s you. And I’m sorry I’ve been such a wet blanket lately. I’ll help in any way I can.’

James’s enthusiasm was catching and very soon almost the entire population of Rutherglen was clamouring to be involved. There was no shortage of volunteers for the choir and though very few of them could read music they all knew the familiar carols by heart. In addition, those from other nationalities brought their own songs and were happy to teach them to the rest, so that very soon the programme included traditional German, Italian and French carols. There was one drawback, however. Mrs Franklyn agreed to play for the concert itself but maintained that it was impossible for her to attend all the rehearsals. She had, she pointed out, her regular pupils to consider.

‘But don’t worry,’ she said. ‘Why not ask Amy to play for the rehearsals? She’s quite capable of playing, if you can obtain the sheet music.’

Amy was thrilled to be asked to take on the responsibility and, after James had telegraphed an order, packets of music arrived by the next coach. Amy took her new role very seriously and spent every afternoon practising.

When Patrick O’Dowd heard about the concert he got together with the other instrumentalists who normally played when there were dances and they offered to contribute a medley of Christmas music to be played after the actual concert was over. Then someone suggested that the celebrations should finish with a hog roast and the suggestion was adopted with enthusiasm.

James came back from rehearsal one evening and announced. ‘I have had an idea.’

‘Another one?’ May queried with a smile.

‘The Sunday School nativity play should be part of the concert. We could have a few carols first, then the play, then finish with more carols. What do you think?’

‘I think it’s an excellent idea. Have you spoken to Mrs Swan?’

Mrs Swan was the minister’s wife, and took charge of the Sunday School as a natural extension of her duties.

‘Yes, she’s all for it. And listen. It occurred to me that Amy should have a solo as part of her role as the Angel Gabriel. I’m sure we could find a suitable carol.’

‘Oh, brilliant! She will be delighted.’

A brief hunt through the sheet music revealed the ideal choice. Amy would sing the carol ‘Joy to the World.’ Lizzie was tasked with making her costume, about which she had very definite ideas, based on the one she had worn when she appeared as an angel at the climax of her career in the music hall.

‘It has to have real feathers on the wings,’ she insisted.

Fortunately a local farmer was killing geese ready for Christmas dinners, so there was no shortage.

In the midst of all these preparations James made several further visits to the telegraph office, and the young woman who operated the telegraph was sworn to silence about the content of his messages and the replies. The date for the concert had been set as 18 December, and, a week before, he came home for his dinner looking more triumphant than ever.

‘I’ve got a surprise for you.’

‘Oh, what?’

‘You know the saying about Mohammed and the mountain?’

‘If Mohammed won’t come to the mountain, the mountain must come to Mohammed. Why?’

‘Well, if May can’t come to Melbourne, then Melbourne must come to May.’

May laughed. ‘Whatever are you talking about?’

‘I’ve been in touch with a Professor Maxwell at the Faculty of Music and Fine Arts at the university. I suggested that one or two of his more advanced students might like to make their professional debut in Rutherglen – in exchange for bed and board and a small fee. As a result, we can expect two singers, a baritone and a soprano, plus their piano accompanist. They will perform extracts from the Messiah and the professor assures me that they are both very accomplished, with a great future ahead of them.’

May stood up and put her arms round his neck. ‘Oh, what a lucky girl I am to have such a wonderful husband!’

From then on May was caught up in a flurry of activity. There were beds to be made up for the singers and their accompanist, which necessitated Amy moving in with Lizzie and the nursery being temporarily transformed into a bedroom. There was food to be ordered and prepared as far as was possible in advance. She had resisted any suggestion that she should join the choir, on the pretext that all the standing would be too taxing in her condition, but she was committed to helping with refreshments for the visiting choir from Chiltern and providing a dessert as a contribution to the hog roast. Lizzie took her share of the load but in addition she had to go to Chiltern with Amy, so that she could practise her carol with Mrs Franklyn. Amy, in the midst of all this, remained surprisingly calm, focused on her role as rehearsal pianist and her coming solo.

The singers arrived on the seventeenth. May had been worried that they might be very sophisticated and inclined to look down on this amateur affair in the ‘backwoods’. But they turned out to be very unassuming and refreshingly anxious about how their contribution would be received. The members of the Chiltern choir would come on the day of the concert. Letters had gone to Richard, asking if he would be able to return in time but he responded that, although he hoped to be home for Christmas, he could not be sure of when he would be free. On the night of the seventeenth, however, as darkness was drawing in and May and James were entertaining their guests to supper, a single horseman arrived on a sweating steed at the front door.

Betsy, answering the bell, let out a shriek. ‘Oh, lordy! It’s you, Mr Kean!’

Amy, who was on her way to bed, flew down the stairs. ‘Papa! Papa! You’re here! I knew you’d come!’

He swept her up into his arms. ‘How could I miss such a special occasion?’

Half an hour of happy confusion followed, as Richard was introduced to the guests from Melbourne and an extra place was found for him at the table. Amy forgot about going to bed and no one reminded her. Then the question arose of where he was going to sleep that night. The house was full. But a visit to Freshfields quickly produced an invitation to stay there until the concert was over and the singers and their accompanist had departed.

The next day passed in frantic last-minute preparations. The singers went into the church to rehearse their pieces; the Chiltern choir arrived and were allocated their accommodation at various homes in the town; the fire was started for the hog roast; extra chairs had to brought into the church and arranged to accommodate both the two choirs and the audience. By evening May was feeling exhausted, but she took her place in the front row with a delicious tremor of excitement. It might not be the Messiah in its full glory, but this concert would have far more meaning for her.

The programme began with four carols from the combined choirs and May was amazed at how harmonious and full-throated they sounded. They finished with ‘Hark the Herald Angels Sing’, and then it was the turn of the Sunday School nativity play. It was as everyone had expected, a gaggle of children in a ragbag assortment of costumes, some intently focused on their part, others gazing around in search of parents and friends, some shrinkingly shy, others brashly over-confident. Among them, one figure stood out – Amy, serenely self-possessed in her feathered wings and halo, her golden hair shining in the light from the windows. When her turn came, she spoke her lines with real authority, but it was when she started to sing that a hush fell over the congregation. May tore her eyes away from the small figure, her attention attracted by a movement from the young soprano who was sitting to one side awaiting her turn. She had leaned forward, watching intently, and then May saw her touch the arm of her colleague and a look passed between them. When the song ended, in defiance of convention, the whole audience burst into applause.

Next it was the turn of the professionals and May abandoned herself to sheer delight. The tenor sang ‘Comfort ye, my people’ and ‘Every valley shall be exalted’, but it was the soprano aria that went to May’s heart: ‘He shall feed his sheep, like a shepherd’. When she heard the words ‘and gently lead those that are with young’ she felt that the whole piece had been specially written for her.

The concert ended with more carols, culminating in ‘Oh Come All Ye Faithful’. Then the congregation filed out to find the little band of fiddle, accordion and guitar playing ‘The Holly and the Ivy’ to lead the way to the paddock where the hog roast was sending savoury aromas into the air.

Everyone was crowding round Amy, congratulating her, and she was the centre of a happy crowd of her fellow actors, most of whom, May noted, were also pupils at the school. She went to join James, who was entertaining the musicians from Melbourne. The soprano, whose name was Stella, turned to her at once.

‘Do tell me about the little girl who played the angel. What’s her name?’

‘Amy Kean,’ May said.

‘She has the most amazing voice for a child of her age. And such presence! Are her parents here? I’d love to speak to them.’

‘Her mother died, a long time ago, but that’s her father, over there.’

James, overhearing the conversation, called, ‘Richard! Here a moment.’

Hearing the call, Richard made his excuses to the group he had been chatting with and joined them.

‘I just wanted to tell you that you have a remarkable little daughter,’ Stella said. ‘Where does she have her singing lessons?’

‘She has piano lessons with Mrs Franklyn, who accompanied the concert,’ May put in. ‘But she has been saying that she really is not qualified to take Amy’s singing lessons any further.’

Richard looked at her. ‘Really? That’s news to me.’

At that moment the cry went up that the hog roast was about to be served and there was a general movement towards the fire. Richard offered his arm to Stella.

‘May I?’

‘Thank you.’ With a blush she took his arm and he led her to join the queue. They were joined by the tenor and May noticed that for some time all three were in deep conversation.

After the excitement of the concert, and the party that followed, everyone felt a little flat the next day. It was Sunday, but attendance at matins was sparse; clearing up was done lethargically; the visitors from Chiltern departed yawning. James, backed up by Lizzie, insisted that May should spend most of the day with her feet up. By Monday morning, however, things seemed to have returned to normal. The music students were seen onto the Melbourne coach, with expressions of gratitude from both sides, Richard moved back into his room at Lake House and all attention turned towards the preparations for Christmas.

The school term had not ended and Amy went off more happily than ever before, to be greeted, as Lizzie reported, by a small gang of admirers. May sighed with relief at a problem solved, but at mid-morning Amy rushed back into the house, scarlet-faced and weeping and clutching her left hand with her right.

Lizzie caught hold of her. ‘Amy? Whatever’s wrong?’

‘She hit me! Miss Clark. She caned me!’

‘She what?’ May joined them in the hallway. ‘Whatever for?’

‘For fighting.’ The words came out in gulping sobs.

‘Fighting? You were fighting? Who with?’

‘Sammy Dawson. It wasn’t my fault. He called me a silly show-off. He was laughing at me, saying things like “Where are your wings? Why don’t you fly away?” I told him to leave me alone and he said, “Are you going to make me?” and he pulled my hair. Then he pushed me against the wall and tried to put his hand up my skirt, so I did what Gus told me to do. I kicked him.’

‘Oh, Gus!’ May murmured.

‘Then what happened?’ Lizzie asked.

‘He grabbed my arm and started twisting it. It hurt. So I bit his hand. He let out a yell and Miss Clark came running and pulled me away. She said she wouldn’t tolerate fighting and we would both have to be punished.’

Richard had come in from the veranda. ‘Come here, Amy.’ He took her by the shoulders. ‘Who is this boy, Sammy?’

‘I know him,’ May put in. ‘He’s a great lout of a boy, twice Amy’s size.’

‘Has he done things to you before?’

Amy nodded and sniffed. ‘He’s horrible. He’s always teasing and pulling girls’ hair.’

‘So what did Miss Clark do?’

A small gleam of revengeful satisfaction crossed Amy’s face. ‘Sammy got six strokes of the cane on his bare bottom, in front of the whole class. Then—’ she began to weep again ‘—then she called me out and said as I had been fighting too I must be punished, and she did this.’ She held out a shaking hand on which three purple stripes showed up against the soft flesh.

‘The witch!’ Lizzie exclaimed. ‘That is so unfair!’

Richard held Amy away from him and looked into her face. ‘You are quite sure that he started the fight? You didn’t kick him just because he was teasing you?’

‘No! I told you. He pulled my hair and tried to put his hand up my skirt.’

Richard lifted her hand and touched it gently with his lips. Then he straightened up. ‘Right! That settles it. You are never going to set foot in that place again. And I shall go up there right now and tell Miss Clark that.’ He turned Amy gently towards Lizzie. ‘Look after her. I’ll be back shortly.’

The front door opened and they saw him striding away up the drive. Amy said shakily, ‘Does he really mean it? I’m not going back?’

‘Yes, love. I think he does,’ Lizzie reassured her. ‘Now, come upstairs and let me bathe your poor hand and wash your face.’

When Richard returned, grim-faced, Lizzie asked, ‘Does this mean we are going to teach Amy at home from now?’

‘That,’ he said, ‘is something I shall have to consider very carefully.’

Amy seemed to recover her spirits by dinner time, but that night she roused them all by screaming out in her sleep. When Lizzie and May rushed to her bedside she was squirming in the grip of a nightmare and muttering over and over again, ‘Don’t beat me, mama. Please don’t beat me!’

Lizzie took her in her arms and held her tightly. ‘It’s all right! It’s all right. No one is going to beat you. You’re with us now, remember?’

After a little Amy quietened and Lizzie settled her back on her pillow. ‘Go to sleep now. You’re quite safe. Hush!’

Once the child was asleep again they tiptoed out of the room. May asked, ‘Why was she saying that? What was that about her mama?’

‘You didn’t know? Mrs McBride, her adoptive mother, used to beat her quite often. She believed in the adage “spare the rod and spoil the child”. I used to try to protect her but I wasn’t always able to. That was why she ran away when she was expelled from the convent. She was terrified what they might do to her when she got home.’

‘I had no idea,’ May whispered. ‘Does Richard know?’

‘Oh yes. That’s one reason why he reacted so sharply this morning.’

‘That poor little girl!’ May whispered. ‘If I’d known what was happening when we were all back in Liverpool, I’d have killed that woman!’

Lizzie smiled at her. ‘Just as well you didn’t, then. Come on. Let’s get back to bed.’

By next day Amy had apparently forgotten her nightmare, though she still nursed her bandaged left hand in her right and seemed more subdued than usual. But, aided by the fact that for her the Christmas holiday had started early, she soon began to recover her spirits and entered into the preparations. They were all invited to Freshfields for Christmas dinner and after they had eaten there was the usual exchange of gifts. The climax of the afternoon came when Richard, who had slipped out of the room, returned carrying a bundle covered by a towel. The bundle wriggled and revealed itself as a golden Labrador puppy.

Amy came to her feet, her eyes wide with wonder. In a voice scarcely above a whisper she asked, ‘Is that for me?’

‘Well,’ her father said, ‘I don’t recall promising to buy a puppy dog for anyone else.’

Amy put out a timid hand and touched the golden coat. ‘Oh, he’s beautiful! Thank you, Papa.’

The puppy turned his head and licked her hand. ‘There, he likes you,’ Richard said. ‘Here, you can hold him.’

He bent and placed the puppy in his daughter’s arms and she cradled it joyfully. ‘He’s so sweet! What is he called?’

‘He doesn’t have a name yet. What do you want to call him?’

Amy thought for a moment. ‘I think I’ll call him Sunbeam – Sunny for short. Then I’ll have a pony called Snowflake and a puppy called Sunbeam. That sounds good, doesn’t it?’

‘Sounds to me,’ Gus put in with a laugh, ‘like you’ve got a pet for all seasons.’

There was a general laugh and as it died down Richard said, ‘This seems a good moment to tell you all some news I’ve been keeping back. I was going to say something when I first arrived but there seemed to be rather a lot going on at the time.’

‘What news?’ George Lavender asked.

‘Gold mining is coming back to Rutherglen.’

‘No, no,’ George said. ‘It was all worked out years ago. You’re wasting your time there.’

‘The easy stuff, that could be got by panning, yes,’ Richard responded. ‘But I’m talking about deep mining. A survey has been carried out and there seems to be good a prospect of success. I have found half a dozen backers who will put up the money and I propose to start work in the New Year.’

‘Risky,’ George commented.

‘Perhaps. But I have every confidence in the results of the survey.’

‘Does that mean that you will be staying here?’ James asked.

‘Yes, of course.’

‘So you won’t be going away again, Papa?’ Amy asked eagerly.

‘That’s right. I am going to start looking for a house, or a plot of land to build on, somewhere in this area.’

‘You know you and Amy are welcome to stay with us,’ James said.

‘I know. And I’ll be grateful to accept your hospitality until I get settled. But I think it’s time Amy and I had a place of our own.’

‘Well,’ George said, ‘charge your glasses, everyone. Let’s drink to success in the year to come, for Richard with his new venture and for our vintage of eighteen seventy.’

‘To eighteen seventy!’ Richard said, and they all drank.