The wharf, located at the river end of Revell Street, was only a short distance from Bramwell’s shop — about five minutes if one walked briskly, though Henry rarely travelled by Shanks’s pony. Most of his visits to the wharf involved collecting stock from the various wholesalers and merchants along Gibson’s Quay or directly from incoming ships. For that he needed his wagon.
His shop’s proximity to this nub of the town was one of the reasons Henry had chosen the site. Lusty sailors, starved of the company — and often a little more — of a woman, frequently called in to purchase ribbons, eau de cologne, ivory combs and other items that might further their chances with the few available women willing to walk out with their kind. He’d even taken to stocking ostrich plumes, a favourite with the ladies. At 3/6d a feather, Henry was making a tidy profit.
Some days the shop till fairly rang with the sweet sound of sailors’ cash. The previous day a young Swede, a blond giant of a man, his blue serge shirt and canvas jacket marking him as a seaman, had called in to Bramwell’s. He’d had a bottle of brandy firmly clamped under his arm and his purchases — sultanas, raisins, glacé cherries, sugar, butter, flour, eggs and numerous spices — had intrigued Henry.
‘Ah … you’ll be making y’self a cake, then, will you?’ he’d asked, his curiosity overcoming his discretion.
The Viking’s laughter had rumbled up to the rafters. ‘No, no. I buy for widow woman. She make me cake.’
Though Henry had laughed with him, he’d been somewhat doubtful about the man’s chances of success.
Now, headed for the wharf, Henry admired Tane’s skill with his horses and wagon. In total control, Tane drove along Revell Street which, unlike the rest of Hokitika’s soldierly straight streets, curved a little to the beach side near the wharf. Keeping to the left, he allowed room for wagons and carriages coming from the opposite direction, shouting a good-natured warning to the odd pedestrian who would have stepped into the path of his horses, and skilfully dodging individual riders, several of whom appeared to have been drinking.
They waved at a passing cluster of men from the cycling club. Smartly got up in peaked caps, black jackets, matching waistcoats, tight tartan trousers and black gaiters, they whizzed merrily along on their penny-farthings.
‘Damn fools,’ muttered Tane, amiably enough. ‘Two-wheel contraptions’ll never catch on, Henry. Give me a horse any day.’
Once on the wharf, Tane steered the wagon past warehouses and office buildings. Although the gold rushes of the 1860s were long since over and the days of forty-odd ships lining the wharf had slipped into the past with barely a whisper, the port was still well used and busy enough to warrant a sharp eye to avoid colliding with other vehicles and men going about their work. To their right lay the river mouth, its north spit littered with wreckage from ill-fated ships.
Stacks of cargo lined the wharf, some due to be loaded and sent off to destinations around the colony and the world, some waiting to be picked up by Tane and other carriers. Steamers large and small, several belching smoke, ready to weigh anchor, were sandwiched between sailing ships. Masts, sails furled, towered into the sky, the lilac-blue of the nearby alps a striking background to the spiderweb of rigging. Voices shouted orders and abuse as cargo was loaded and unloaded.
A young lad, selling copies of the West Coast Times, wandered along the wharf. His cloth cap pulled well down, shading his eyes and forcing his head up so he could see, he shouted out in that sing-song vernacular peculiar to newspaper sellers, ‘Lightning killschildreninInvercargillreadallaboutit!’
In the background, Wade & Spence’s man competed with him as he auctioned off twenty bales of Wanganui chaff.
They came to a stop alongside the Empress Star.
‘Just as well we’re two strong lads,’ Tane commented, eyeing the Harringtons’ clearly labelled, large cabin trunk sitting with the other uncollected baggage on the wharf.
‘Damn me if I don’t end up with a hernia from this,’ Henry grunted, hoisting the trunk onto the wagon with Tane’s help.
‘I say there, Henry,’ a voice called.
Henry turned, wiped a hand over his brow, slippery with sweat. George Benning, a local merchant, was hurrying over to the wagon. ‘Well this is fortuitous,’ he said, slightly out of breath. ‘I intended coming to see you today. I’ve some excellent-quality flour just landed from the Union Mill in Taranaki. It’s going for a good price, Henry — damned good price. Too good to miss out on.’ He tapped the side of his nose, gave Henry a knowing look. ‘I’ve heard a whisper they’re not too far from bankruptcy. Undercutting other mills’ prices hoping to stay afloat, I expect.’
‘Have you time to help me pick up some flour?’ Henry asked Tane. A bargain was not to be sneezed at, and seeing they were on the spot, it would save him a trip.
Tane grinned, pleased at the offer of extra work. ‘I’ll make time, Henry.’
Henry walked the short distance to Benning’s warehouse while Tane drove the wagon to the large, open doors at the front of the corrugated-iron building, bringing it to a halt beside a raised wooden platform.
‘I’ve some sugar here from the Victorian Sugar Company as well if you’re interested, Henry. Landed yesterday on the Belle Star. You’ll have room there — be a shame to waste it.’
Henry could see how Benning had become so successful, and he quickly took up the merchant’s offer. The supply of sugar was erratic — it paid to have extra on hand.
Flour and sugar stacked neatly around the Harringtons’ trunk, Henry was about to climb on the wagon when he saw his Swedish customer of the day before. Obviously the worse for drink, he staggered along the wharf, headed for a small whaling schooner. Seeing Henry, the mariner hailed him with a wide grin. He made his way towards the wagon, letting out a round of what Henry took to be good, solid Nordic cussing when he tripped over a mooring rope. He staggered to his feet and triumphantly held up a large tin.
‘Widow make good cake!’ he said with a boisterous belly laugh.
By the state of the man, rather more of his brandy had gone down his gullet than into the cake, Henry guessed.
A dismayed Mai looked at the cabin trunk on Tane’s wagon. She’d intended moving a bed into Wiremu and Don’s room for Jimmy; she hadn’t banked on two extra people staying.
‘If you bring the trunk in, I’ve made some refreshments for our visitors,’ she said.
‘Oh, wonderful!’ exclaimed Claire. ‘I’m so parched the sides of my throat are pasted together. But don’t bother bringing the trunk inside — we’re intending to book into a boarding house.’
‘You’re not staying here, then?’ Mai hoped her relief wasn’t too obvious.
‘Oh, my goodness me, no. Wherever would you put us?’ Her laugh sounded like tinkly bells. ‘We hoped you might recommend a clean and respectable establishment where we can stay.’
Mai took her bone-china tea set from the dresser and filled three cups.
‘Oh … tea?’ Claire’s perfectly moulded nose wrinkled. ‘I’m so sorry. I’m not really one for tea — or coffee, for that matter. I much prefer hot chocolate. My very dear friends the Cadburys — you’ve no doubt heard of them and their mouth-watering chocolate confections — make a most delicious brand of drinking chocolate, which I believe has at last become available in this part of the world.’ She gave a hesitant smile. ‘Do you …?’
‘Oh … I’m afraid we don’t. But we do have their Bournville Cocoa.’ Mai clearly recalled Henry deciding against stocking Cadbury’s confections and drinking chocolate until they were better established. ‘Too expensive, and not likely to sell quickly, I shouldn’t think,’ he’d said at the time, and she had agreed.
‘I’m sorry — I wasn’t thinking,’ Claire said quickly. ‘Blame it on the journey. It’s quite a distance from Melbourne to Hokitika when one is not a good sailor. I was ill nearly the whole time. Cocoa will do very nicely.’
Elmer sipped his tea and pushed it aside. ‘I wouldn’t mind a drop of scotch if you have some,’ he said to Mai, rubbing his stomach and wincing. ‘Wobbly tummy, I’m afraid. My sister wasn’t the only one who found the journey a trifle harrowing.’
The look Claire gave her brother would have frosted a mirror. ‘A glass of water would do your stomach more good than liquor, Elmer.’
Her glare was returned with equal frost. ‘I’m a grown man, sister dear. I think I know by now what will settle my stomach and what will not.’ He rolled his eyes at Mai. ‘My sister, like her friends the Cadburys, is a Bible-thumping Quaker and not well disposed toward liquor.’
Claire turned indignant blue eyes on her brother. ‘Elmer, I’ll thank you not to use that disparaging term.’ She turned her back on him, addressing Mai. ‘I’m a Friend.’
Of whom? Mai wondered, looking confused.
‘I belong to the Religious Society of Friends,’ Claire explained. ‘And I absolutely and utterly abhor the consumption of alcohol. Unfortunately, Elmer does not share my beliefs.’
Mai’s sympathy was entirely with Claire. ‘I don’t think we have any,’ she said to Elmer.
They did, of course. Though not much of a drinker himself, Henry was a good host and liked to have a bottle on hand.
Henry had chosen that moment to walk into the kitchen. ‘Of course we do. Had you forgotten?’ he said, fetching a bottle of Walker’s Kilmarnock Whisky from the dresser and pouring a nip for Elmer.
Elmer downed it in one swallow, then downed several more in rapid succession.
Claire’s face was set in a scowl.
After tea Jimmy and a tipsy and slightly unsteady Elmer escorted Claire to the nearby Golden Age Hotel. Claire had not been happy about taking rooms in a hotel, but with the Fairway, one of the town’s larger boarding houses, having caught fire only two days previously there was a shortage of private accommodation. Having business to discuss with Henry, Jimmy saw Claire to her room and returned to the shop.
Henry poured a glass of whisky for Jimmy, raising his eyebrows at the small amount left in the bottle. ‘I have to confess to being startled when you arrived with a fiancée and an intended brother-in-law,’ he said.
‘I can well imagine, Henry, and I’m sorry about that. But I didn’t meet Claire until after I’d decided to take up your offer.’
‘That was a bit sudden, wasn’t it?’
‘I suppose it was. I met her when I invested money with Elmer. He’s a sharebroker, you see. Claire works with him. She’s clever with bookwork, as well as beautiful. I couldn’t believe my good fortune when she agreed to step out with me. And then … when she accepted my proposal …’ He let the words trail, a besotted expression on his face.
‘I was all for turning down your offer. Think on it, Henry — a beautiful woman like her, well set up and all in Melbourne. I couldn’t take her away from that, now could I?’
‘So how is it you’ve ended up in Hokitika after all?’
‘Ah! Well, that’s the beauty of it. When I told Claire and Elmer of your offer and that I intended turning it down, they told me it was too good an opportunity to miss, and seeing as Elmer had been thinking of selling up and coming to New Zealand himself, they’d come with me. Claire wouldn’t have come with me unchaperoned so it’s worked out well.’
Privately, Henry wondered at the union. Claire was certainly a good-looking woman, and he was prepared to take Jimmy’s word that she was clever, but somehow he couldn’t see Jimmy being happy with a Quaker woman. He’d never been much of a churchgoer, and he was fond of a drop. He might give it up happily enough in the beginning, but once the glow wore off, then what?
Still, that was for Jimmy to deal with. ‘Well, James,’ he said with a cheeky grin, clinking his glass against Jimmy’s, ‘here’s to your future life together. May it be full of happiness, and your troubles sparse.’
Whatever the future held for Jimmy, it would certainly be interesting.
To Mai’s surprise, Elmer Harrington wasted no time in setting up an insurance and sharebroking business. Within little over a week of landing in Hokitika he had leased and furnished a small shop next to the fishmonger’s on the corner of Revell and Stafford streets.
Elmer and Claire held an ‘open’ afternoon the day the office was officially opened. Henry, having inspected the premises the night before, tended the shop while Jimmy escorted Mai to the opening.
Although it was a mild and sunny day, the town had just endured three days of heavy rain. Revell Street, metalled some eighteen years previously, was now, like so many of the town’s streets and buildings, showing signs of wear and tear. Numerous puddles dotted the street, brimful of muddied water and perfumed with steaming, diluted horse dung. Mai was thankful Elmer’s offices were on the same side of the street as Bramwell’s Store.
She hadn’t bothered with lunch and her stomach gave a gentle rumble as the smell of baking bread, the second batch of the day, drifted across the road from the baker’s.
Dick Seddon, Member of Parliament for the constituency of Kumara, a town further inland, had been invited to open Harringtons’ Insurance and Investment Brokers. He was just arriving as Jimmy and Mai approached the premises. Resplendent in his favoured top hat and bow tie, he more than amply filled both his three-piece grey suit and the doorway. Jimmy and Mai stood respectfully aside and waited. Both had met Seddon once before, some years ago when he’d called in to Bramwell’s Store in Stafford.
Seeing them, the MP tipped his hat. ‘Good afternoon to you, Mr Edwards and Mrs Bramwell,’ he said, impressing them both with his remarkable ability for recalling names.
‘He’s a good man is Dick Seddon,’ Jimmy said, his approving gaze following Seddon and entourage. ‘He’s for the working man, Mai, and you can’t say that about many politicians. Most of ’em are after feathering their own nests and be damned to the workers.’
Mai nodded. Seddon was indeed a champion of the working man, and she applauded him for that. But she’d heard whispers that his backing of ordinary folk did not extend so generously to those of her own race and so she was a little wary of the man.
Claire saw them entering. ‘Oh! At last you’re here.’ She took Mai by the arm. ‘Well … what do you think?’ she asked, smiling and excited.
Mai looked around the room, stunned at its transformation. She’d last seen the former draper’s shop the week before. Empty of fittings and furniture, it had felt damp and cold. The wood-panelled walls, dented, chipped and lacking lustre, had clearly not been touched for years and had cast a gloomy pall around the room. Now the wood panelling was sanded and varnished, and glowed with warm rimu tones. Wallpaper with a repeating pattern of sage-green acanthus leaves covered the top half of each wall.
‘Oh, I just knew you would love it, Mai,’ Claire said, delighting in Mai’s wide-eyed awe. ‘Isn’t the wall covering divine? It’s called Sandringham — named for our beloved Queen’s Norfolk home. They say she has this self-same wallpaper in a wing not long built. I fell in love with it the moment I saw it. We were so lucky it was available … a cancelled order.’
‘It’s beautiful. However did you manage to get it all done so quickly?’ Mai took in the large wooden desk in one corner, partly concealed by an exquisitely embroidered Chinese silk screen, with a much smaller sloping-top desk nearby — Claire’s, she guessed. A chaise longue sat to the left, its sage-coloured velvet covering an exact match for the acanthus leaves adorning the walls.
Speechless, Mai sank onto a high-backed upholstered armchair, a superb example of craftsmanship with its elegantly carved wooden legs. She rested her back against its luxurious padding and sighed blissfully.
Claire spread her arms expansively. ‘It was all part of the same cancelled order!’ She lowered her voice to add confidentially, ‘… ordered by a well-to-do landowner’s wife — he’s been ruined by this never-ending depression.’
Coals glowed orange, their flames reflected in the floral-patterned tiles surrounding the fireplace. Mai held out her hands, warming them. ‘It seems their misfortune was your gain.’
‘I shall do your place for you if you like, Mai,’ Claire offered, sensing a trace of envy Mai had tried hard to conceal.
Thinking of Henry’s reaction to such a lavish plan, Mai smiled.