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Townsville
December 1886
Sally was drawn to the clink of glass and hum of voices coming from the two-storey building on the corner of Wickham Street and The Strand. She’d turned her nose up at the miserable accommodation the Immigration Scheme was offering, and was in need of a job and a place to live. She’d wait for no man to tell her how to live her life, and being a barmaid seemed as good an option as any. At least, that was one thing she knew how to do. She learnt some tricks on the streets of Glasgow after she’d escaped the clutches of her stepfather.
Entering the high-ceilinged foyer, she ducked into the cloakroom, glad of the chance to remove her heavy mantle in the stifling heat. Hiding her carry bags behind the other coats, she pulled out an array of grooming effects from her reticule. She redid her hair until it looked full and flattering, nestling her fair curls softly around her face and puffing them out under her hat. A dash of rose water and a tiny amount of rouge rubbed high on her cheekbone and on her lips to emphasise the whiteness of her skin and she looked glowing with health. The happy-go-lucky servant girl of the ship disappeared and was replaced by a striking woman who knew what she wanted.
Despite the heat, she’d hidden her best outfit under her cape prior to leaving the ship and while the hem was a bit grubby, thanks to the condition of the streets, she knew they wouldn’t be looking at her feet. The rich red empress stripe brocade with a fitted bodice and not quite demure V-neck suited her – and, after all, first impressions counted.
From the entranceway, she could see the public bar to her right, and extending along the length of the building to her left was the gentlemen’s lounge. She headed left. With a beaming smile plastered on her face, she pushed the door open. She faltered slightly before letting it close behind her, swallowed, squared her shoulders and strode purposefully into the bar. It was do or die.
She tilted her head to the man on her left, leaning against the bar, whose eyes followed her, and to the man on her right sitting in the tub chair, his newspaper lowered so he could watch her progress. A few steps further and she spied an opportunity – a man was rising from his chair with an empty glass in his hand.
“Can I fetch a refresher for you, sir?” she said cheerily, placing a gentle hand on his shoulder to encourage him to sit down. Two others sitting at the table with him looked back and forth from her to their companion.
One of them gave a low whistle. “You lucky devil, Ted. Order us another round while you’re at it.”
The room fell quiet; the man behind the bar stopped what he was doing, wiped his hands and threw the towel over his shoulder.
“Mrs McKendrick!” he called in a loud voice. “You might like to come and see something in the Gentlemen’s Lounge.”
“Now,” said Sally, her heart thumping wildly as she gauged the impact she’d made on the clientele. “What would you gentlemen like?” After taking their orders she approached the counter to be greeted by an impressive woman with dark hair and bright, knowing eyes, in a well-cut black dress. She and Sally faced each other, each sizing the other up before either spoke.
Sally decided to take the initiative. She extended her hand. “Hello, I’m Sally.”
Mrs Emily McKendrick hesitated. She accepted the outstretched hand and after a quick shake, let it go again.
“I’ve just arrived off the ship, and when I saw how busy you were, I thought I’d call in and lend a hand. You don’t mind, do you? After all, I’ve got nothing better to do today, and these gentlemen are in need of refreshment.” Sally flashed her brightest smile, turned to the barman and repeated the drinks order.
By this time, all eyes were on her and Mrs McKendrick, who was scrutinising the newcomer. “I’ll give you today to prove your worth,” she said at length.
An immediate ruckus followed her announcement. Arms were raised in the air to attract Sally’s attention and shouts came from all corners of the room.
“Over here, miss. I’ll have another.”
“Sally,” cried one man who had been close enough to overhear her name. “Sally, love, I’ve got an order for you.”
Some of the men started to bang their glasses on the table, demanding Sally serve them first. To avoid a riot until she could take everyone’s orders, she started to sing snippets of folk songs she’d learnt as a child. ‘The Skye Boat Song’ proved a great start, although she knew she’d have to pick up the pace the more they drank. ‘Ye Banks and Braes’, ‘The Scottish Soldier’ and ‘Loch Lomond’ all worked their magic as she made her way around the room, taking orders from some, encouraging others to go to the bar themselves, and getting still others to join in singing the chorus.
By the end of the afternoon, the lounge was packed. Word had spread of the new serving lass. Mrs McKendrick had come out from the kitchen to help serve – leaving the cook and scullery maid to manage as best they could to keep the patrons fed – and still more people tried to get into the crowded space. Reluctantly, Mrs McKendrick was forced to shut the lounge room doors. She sent some of the new arrivals around to the public bar and suggested to the more inebriated that they return to their wives and families.
Sally found the heat wearisome. Her feet were sore, her shoes pinched and she knew the underarm of her gown would be stained with sweat. She was flagging, but she kept a smile on her face and continued her friendly banter while she waited for a cue from the mistress. Had she proved her worth, or would she be thrown out? It had to work. It just had to.
Gradually, as dark fell, the bar quietened and settled to a restful murmur. During the lull, Mrs McKendrick, who’d gone back to the kitchen to make sure there were enough pies for dinner, returned to the lounge bar. She poured two glasses of brandy and invited Sally to join her at a small table by the window. “Seems you’ve made an impression on the customers. Not sure I care for your approach – bit too uppity for my liking. Now, I am grateful for the extra sales, but ...”
Sally jumped in before the woman had finished her sentence, in case what she had to say wasn’t what Sally wanted to hear. “Thank ye, Mrs McKendrick. I’m only glad to help. What would you like me to do next?”
The woman lowered her brows. “Who said I wanted you to do anything at all?”
“Well, no one exactly, but I can see you’re a canny businesswoman.” Beneath the table, Sally pleated the fabric of her skirt between her fingers. “And since I’m in need of a job, I think we can benefit each other.”
Up close, Mrs McKendrick appeared younger than her plain dress indicated. She had an upright posture with a good figure, despite a little plumpness. The harsh Australian sun had weathered her skin bronze, and worry lines creased the area around her eyes, but her physical appearance wasn’t what struck Sally, it was her intensity. She had a genial smile, when she bestowed it, and an ever-changing face as thoughts and emotions flitted across her mind. But her eyes – dark, sparkling orbs, warm and perceptive – were her most captivating feature.
“Can you cook?”
Unsurprised by the question, Sally instinctively knew Emily McKendrick would not easily concede, but neither was she a fool. “Not as good as you, I’d guess, seeing as what comes out the kitchen. But, aye, I can a little. But I’m thinking it’s not me cooking that will make you money.”
Emily McKendrick threw back her head and laughed – a deep, rich sound. She raised her glass. “You’re a woman after my own spirit.”
Sally touched her glass against the other and took a sip, carefully resisting the urge to down the amber liquid in one go. She watched and waited while Emily supped.
“I think I agree with you – we could profit one another. You’re hired – for now. But no shenanigans. You can sing, you can serve drinks, you can flirt, but if I catch you with a man in your room, you’re gone. Do you understand me?”
“Yes, Mrs McKendrick. And thank you ever so much.” No way would any man find his way into Sally’s bedroom, not until she had a ring on her finger, and even that, she doubted. If it happened, it would be on her terms.
“Twenty-one shillings a week. Room and all found. Deal?”
“Deal. And I promise, no men.” Sally tilted her head and looked out of the corner of her eye with a coquettish smile. “But there’s no harm in using a bit of persuasion now and then to get them going, is there?”
“None whatsoever.”
The two women drained their glasses and went about their tasks. She saw no need to tell Mrs McKendrick her plans to make a little extra money on the side.
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Several weeks later, towards the end of January, Sally was settling into her new life, even if she still struggled with the weather. The heat rose to unbearable temperatures at times, and the clammy, humid conditions made everything sticky. The rain turned out to be something to welcome. Although short-lived, it came in downpours, washed the dust away, made the air smell fresh and cooled the temperature for a while – until the sun came out again. She now understood the importance of the verandahs and shades – and the value of appropriate clothing. Never had what she’d worn meant so much. Her memories mostly consisted of the times she’d been numb with cold.
Dressed only in her chemise and standing by the open window hoping to catch a breeze off the ocean, Sally began to hatch a plan, one that had taken root while sitting under the shade of the large Moreton Bay fig tree with Emily McKendrick on Christmas Day.
The Christmas Day meal had been an unusual affair. Mrs McKendrick had turned on a feast for staff and customers alike, who had nowhere else to go. Sally could honestly say the day was better than anything she expected and the first Christmas she had celebrated since she was a wee child and her mother was still alive.
The laden table nearly groaned with the weight of food, most of which she couldn’t name and had no idea what it tasted like. The first course was a local fish called barramundi, served with oysters and crab. Grilled parrot and roasted wild duck followed, and the meal ended with a magnificent flaming plum pudding, packed full of dried fruits, the likes of which she had never eaten, even in Scotland. But the day had been far too hot to enjoy so much food, and the pudding sat heavy in her stomach.
The exotic and refreshing fruits, like pawpaw, quince, pineapple and guava, became Sally’s new favourite treats. She’d been amazed they could be used fresh in salads as well as cooked in sauces and pies – not that Sally wanted to learn anything about cooking – but she surely enjoyed eating.
After the heavy meal, many guests drifted off to find a place to sleep the afternoon away, while Sally and Emily sat in the shade and talked. Their conversation was still tentative after only two weeks of getting to know one another and still on a mistress–servant relationship, but since Mrs McKendrick had no complaints and Sally was wise enough to keep her tongue in check, a rapport was developing.
“My father owns the hotel,” Emily told her. “He has two others in Brisbane and Sydney, but sent me here to Townsville to learn the trade. Luckily, Walter doesn’t mind the licence being in my name.”
Walter McKendrick was exactly the sort of husband Sally wanted: one who did as he was told. Well-spoken, good with the customers and extremely affable, he was content with his status, as long as he had the visible public role. Equally happy with the arrangement, Emily managed the books, the kitchen and the staff, but she had ideas for the future.
The hotel was grand by Australian country town standards and far better than the rough drinking pubs found elsewhere. They had accommodation, often held public meetings and entertainment, and welcomed the gentlemen of the town, but Emily had seen what could be done in the cities.
“I’m much in need of better-trained staff who know how to set well-dressed tables, with quality furnishings to match. But none of that is available here in Townsville,” Emily bemoaned as she languidly waved a palm frond in front of her face. “I do so admire that lace you’re wearing. Quality like that is hard to come by.”
Sally had fashioned the lace Brigid had given her to sit as a high collar at the back of her neck and extend in a small V down the yoke. The open lace was lighter and cooler to wear than the throat-wrapping collars that trapped the heat, but still retained decorum and style – much as she’d like to abandon both. But Emily’s comment had set Sally thinking.
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Sally reluctantly moved away from the window and began putting on her corsets and petticoats. She looked at the two gowns she had to choose between and knew there was an answer there somewhere.
Many of the fashionable, upper-class ladies who had emigrated from the grand houses of England remained steadfast in their determination to wear only the latest and best that Europe could offer, regardless of its unsuitability to the climate. High collars, long sleeves, tight corsets under fitted jackets, and petticoats with bustles and trains were all the rage, but Australia was a different place and, in Sally’s opinion, needed more practical fabrics.
A few of the women who worked for a living had started to abandon the heavy fabrics and restrictive undergarments, but unfortunately only servants and farmers’ wives had adopted anything remotely sensible. Sally often had pretty, yet practical ideas pop into her head, seemingly from nowhere, but she had no clue how to go about putting the ideas into action. What she did know was she needed Brigid’s sewing skills.
If Emily McKendrick wanted to push an advantage with high-class, quality surroundings and furnishings, then maybe Sally’s little plan might take shape after all. She had promised Brigid to come up with something, and that something seemed tantalisingly close, if only Sally could work out a way of getting the two of them together.
Meanwhile, Sally donned her sweat-inducing dress and prepared to meet and greet the lunchtime crowds.
* * *
Townsville
January 1887
“Ah, Maggie, what more do you want from me?”
Life had not become the warm, encouraging place Jamie had hoped for since he jumped ship in Townsville all those weeks ago. He’d fully intended to get Maggie and the two girls away from Michael, but it turned out Michael’s hold over Maggie was stronger than Jamie’s.
“I want you to be getting a real nice job that’ll provide a decent home instead of all them dirty jobs you’re picking up here and there. I’ve enough of that with Michael. He’s nowt but a labourer and always will be. But I expect you to do better.”
Michael had come to Townsville with work already waiting for him with the railway company serving the goldfields further north, but Jamie had found it nearly impossible to get work that wasn’t short-term. In the last two weeks of 1886 and early in 1887, he’d managed a bit of butchering, some carting and fencing, but nothing of a permanent nature where he could settle down and make an offer for Maggie’s hand. They’d had many an argument about where she was prepared to live.
“That’s hardly fair now, Maggie. I’m a farmer. That’s all I know. If you’d come farming with me we could build a life together. You know that, but I can’t help it if the heat and dust make me manky, can I?”
Maggie and the girls were living in a small, two-room miner’s cottage at the end of a long, narrow lane on the outskirts of town, with little in the way of comfort. She hated it but had no other option. At least there were a few neighbours within sight.
Despite his offer to marry her, Maggie had point blank refused to move anywhere where she might encounter snakes and crocodiles, or those black people she heard about. She needed people around her to feel safe, not living in the middle of nowhere in the outback. He tried to reassure her, and while Maggie admitted the few local women she’d seen around town dressed in Western clothes were less intimidating than she’d expected, she’d still kept her distance.
“Scram, now. I can’t be bothered with ye no more. Not till you come to your senses. Go now, I say, or I’ll tell Michael.”
“You don’t mean that, our Maggie, and you know it. It’s just the heat talking. I’ll take the girls for a walk. Keep them out of your hair. You go rest awhile.”
Michael had threatened to kill Jamie if he ever saw him again, which meant Jamie only visited when Michael was away working. Often disappointed after his talks with Maggie, Laura and Jane usually saved the day. They had grown fond of him and he of them. When he could, he would walk with them to or from school, although he found a number of times Maggie had kept them home so she had company.
“Come on, girls.”
The youngsters squealed with delight as the three of them headed off to the beach.
“Be good now,” warned Maggie. “And wear your hats,” she shouted, as they disappeared from sight.
Jamie loved sporting with the little girls, feeling young and carefree again, much like back home with his brothers and sisters and cousins. It gave him comfort and strength. He was growing to like this vast country, so different from his own, but sometimes he felt lonelier than he cared to admit.
Every time his mind drifted to those times back home, he thought of Brigid and wished things could be different. He missed her terribly, but he couldn’t work out what hold Maggie had that tied him to her against all sense and logic. Whatever it was, he knew he couldn’t leave.
He was now delivering ice blocks for those new-fangled ice chests – he’d never have believed it possible if he hadn’t seen them with his own eyes – and hoped it would become a permanent position. At least that way he could live in the township, which would please Maggie – and working with the ice was proving a bonus in these steamy conditions. He’d ask if there were any broken bits he could have as a gift to Maggie. That might improve her temper. He strode off down the road whistling tunes from home, happier than he’d been for a while.
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A sudden storm swept through the town in the third week of January, uprooting shrubs, ripping branches off trees and damaging buildings in its path. Jamie found it strange that it had gone as quickly as it arrived, coming from a land where storms were the norm and could rage for days.
For those who had lived in Townsville longer, heavy rainfall and strong winds were common. Even so, Jamie couldn’t get over the way everyone continued their daily routines as if nothing had happened. Teams of people cleared up the mess, repaired the damage and life went on.
Fortunately, no one was injured, but Jamie worried about how Maggie and the girls coped. He dared not visit because Laura had told him Michael was home again. He’d have to bide his time and wait until the girls gave him the all clear.
The scorching, clammy heat returned, and Jamie found he was busier than ever. He soon learnt the knack of handling the large blocks of ice, and his strength proved a real asset in lifting the heavy slabs.
One of his regular customers was the butchery and meatworks he’d done a few shifts for over the Christmas period when the regular staff took a day or two off. The works were expanding and needed to keep the meat fresh while waiting for shipment. While the refrigeration business was developing at a rapid pace, Townsville had yet to catch up with the latest technology. In the meantime, ice blocks did the job. Coffee shops, hotels and other eating places demanded ice to chill their coffee and tea, make ice cream and fruit ices, and to keep drinks cold. Jamie was busy.
Back home, Jamie had never heard of chilled drinks or ices; the towns and villages he lived near were too poor and remote for things like that to reach their lips. He knew what ginger beer was. His ma had made it at home. But it tasted nothing like the new Schweppes brand, and he’d never tasted anything like their sweet lemonade and fizzy tonic water either. But these days Jamie was far more interested in what the Castlemaine Brewery in Brisbane had to offer, or the local Townsville Brewery that had started up earlier in the year in competition. He’d developed quite a fondness for the beer he could buy on tap at the pubs.
The elegant, upmarket Queens Hotel was not one of his regular drinking places. He felt quite out of place whenever he had to deliver their ice order. The publican was a Mrs Emily McKendrick. Even that was a surprise. He didn’t know women could be publicans. To his mind, the women who frequented pubs were of the class his Ma and Pa had warned him against, but Mrs McKendrick was a refined, well-dressed lady who spoke kindly. She also had a reputation for being a great cook, if you could afford to eat in her establishment. He couldn’t, but sometimes she rewarded him with a pie.
“It’s yesterday’s,” she explained the first time she gave him a homemade oyster pie. “I don’t usually have any left over. The oyster is a favourite, but the storm kept the customers away, so there’s one to spare. You’re welcome to it.”
Jamie mumbled his thanks as he gingerly transferred the steamy pie from one hand to the other, blowing on it to cool it down. He had no idea what oyster tasted like. They were another new delicacy he’d heard about, but after one bite he decided the taste was much to his liking.
After a few times delivering the ice, Mrs McKendrick asked him to change his routine. “Can you call in the mornings, instead of the evenings, please, Jamie? I’d prefer to have the ice fresh to start the day. It tends to melt quickly when the door to the ice chest is opened all the time.”
Jamie didn’t care. As long as he had a job and was paid for it, the time of day made little difference to him. He was delivering the ice as usual, a few days before the end of January when a young woman came out through the kitchen door. She was dressed in a lightweight sprigged cotton dress and a large hat, and carried a parasol, which she opened as soon as she stepped into the sunlight. Jamie couldn’t see her face, but something about her seemed familiar.
He had left the bullock wagon blocking the lane and her path so he turned around and headed back to the vehicle. “Sorry, miss. I’ll just move the wagon out of your way.” He climbed up to the driver’s seat, took up the reins and moved the animals forward. As he twisted around to see if she had enough room, she looked up at him, tilting the parasol behind her head. Recognition simultaneously leapt into their eyes and they both spoke as one.
“Miss Sally?”
“Jamie O’Brien, is that you?” Sally smiled, lighting her face with a glow of health and ease. “Well, fancy seeing you here.”
Seeing Sally come out of the hotel dressed in fashionable clothing befuddled Jamie. She obviously wasn’t a kitchen maid, but then ... Suddenly, he didn’t want to think about what else she might be.
“What are you doing here?” he asked rather too brusquely, trying to cover his discomfort.
“Now, I dinna think that’s the way to greet someone – do you? Especially someone who’s a friend of your wee cousin an’ all.”
Jamie climbed down from the wagon again and stood a few paces away.
“Are you turning a wee bit pink there, me lad?”
Even more flustered, Jamie stammered. “I, um. Well, that is ...”
“Whisht, Jamie. It’s me you’re talking to. I won’t eat you. Have you heard from Brigid then?”
He pushed his hat to the back of his head and wiped his sweaty hands on his trousers. He knew removing his hat for a lady would be more polite, but the sun was too strong and he still wasn’t sure Sally was a lady. “No. I haven’t,” he admitted. “I don’t know where to find her.”
“And she won’t have a clue where you are then, either, will she, you dunderhead.”
Jamie swallowed the retort that came to mind. He couldn’t let his temper get the better of him yet. “What about you? Have you had a letter?”
“Aye, I have,” Sally teased.
A surge of longing filled his veins. “How is she? Is she well? Where is she?”
“Hold your horses, lad. One thing at a time. Once I got settled ...”
Sally stopped talking as soon as Jamie’s eyes wandered between her and the building behind him, his unspoken questions written on his face. “Is it Brigid you want to know about? Or are you more keen to know what I’m doing living in the hotel?”
Abashed, Jamie lowered his head. It looked like Sally was being her usual outspoken self again. They’d not had much to do with one another on the ship, since Jamie considered Sally had too much to say to Brigid about Maggie.
“Brigid,” he mumbled. “Tell me about our Brigid. Please?”
Satisfied with his response, Sally continued her story. “I sent a telegram back to the immigration people asking them to let her know where I was. I got a letter from her just after Christmas. She’s working as a maid in a nice area of Brisbane for an important man about town who runs the drapery store. Big it is, she says. Two floors of goods the like of which she’s not seen ever.”
“Aye, she’d be as happy as a pig in muck if she could work in a place like that.”
Sally stared at Jamie, trying to decide whether she should get to know him better and tell him about her plans, or to dismiss him and let him go his way. Jamie shuffled his feet under her gaze waiting for her to say something more.
“She asked after you. Even after what you did to her, she still cares enough to ask about you. I’m trying to make up my mind if I’ll forgive you.”
“Oh, Miss Sally. I am right sorry it had to be the way it was. I can’t explain what made me do it, but I know I’d do it again if I had to. But our Brigid is that special to me I’d do anything ye ask to make things right. I would ...” Jamie was almost gabbling, the words were coming out of his mouth so fast.
Sally raised her hand to stop him talking. “All right. You’re forgiven – for now. But if you do anything to hurt her again, you’ll have to deal with me.”
At that point, Mr McKendrick emerged. “What’s the hold-up, lad? I heard the wagon pull up ages ago and I’ve been waiting.” He looked between the two of them, assessing what was going on. “Sally, do you know this man? He’s not bothering you, is he?”
“No, Mr McKendrick. He’s no bother. I do know him a little. He was on the same ship as me coming out, with his cousin, who’s my friend. We were just catching up. Sorry to hold you up. I’ll be on my way and get those things Mrs McKendrick wanted.”
“Very well, then. As long as he’s not being a nuisance. Come along, lad. Bring that ice in.”