11

Jamie hoped his face would not betray him. The sight of the police constable had set his insides churning. “Aye, I am. What of it?” He continued loading the ice onto the wagon, certain any nervousness would be covered by physical exertion.

“I need to ask you some questions.” The constable removed his notebook and pencil from his pocket.

“Oh aye? What about?” Jamie turned and headed back into the store for another block. Nearly two months had passed since the day he, Sally and Maggie had taken the trip into the hills. There’d been no talk that he’d heard of in that time, but he couldn’t trust that someone hadn’t seen something – but what, and who?

Jamie swayed under the weight of the block of ice. He rested it against the side of the wagon and looked at the constable. “What’s it to you?”

Now that was an odd thing to say. Maggie was no more missing than he was. She was still with Sally at the hotel. Mrs Emily was being ever so helpful.

“Yes, missing.” The man trotted after him, obviously getting irritated. “Do you have to repeat everything I say?”

Jamie found it difficult to talk with the weight of the ice. “I’m just making sure I understand what it is that you’re asking me, officer,” replied Jamie as smoothly as he could.

“Just answer the question.” The man turned red in the face and shifted his weight from foot to foot.

“Not unless you tell me why you want to know. Where she is is her business, is it not?” He hoped he was right.

“Report about what?” He was stalling for time, and he knew it. So did the prickly copper.

“This is getting us nowhere. If you don’t answer me I shall have to take you down to the station where you will be forced to speak to the sergeant.”

“Don’t go actin’ like a cur chewing a wasp over a little t’ing now. I’m only asking so I know how best to help. Now, is there anything wrong with that, I ask ye?”

By this time, the constable was behaving exactly as Jamie had described and almost spluttered with indignation. “You are supposed to be helping the police with their enquiries. Not helping someone escape the law.”

“Is that what she’s doing? Escaping the law?” Jamie grinned. He knew he’d gained the upper hand. This little pipsqueak knew nothing.

The constable admitted, “Well, no, not exactly. But we do need to find her.”

“Aye. Well, tell me why and I’ll see if I know anything. Otherwise, can ye let me go about my business? I’ve deliveries to do.”

Huffing and puffing, the constable stepped in front of Jamie, blocking his way. “We believe something untoward may have happened to her,” he said in a voice barely above a whisper. “It’s come to our attention that Michael O’Neill may have left the area since he’s not shown up for work for several weeks. Or been home either, it seems. The place is deserted. About the same time, neighbours reported seeing Miss O’Neill being helped into a buggy by a woman and drunken man. She hasn’t been seen since. There is concern Mr O’Neill has taken her. Now, do you or do you not know anything about these incidents that can help with our enquiries?”

“Don’t care about the O’Neill man, but Maggie was sick. Miss Sally from Queens Hotel asked me to help take her there to get better – and I wasn’t drunk. As far as I know she’s still there safe and well. Along with the girls.”

“Laura and Jane, of course. Her nieces. They look after each other. Thick as thieves they are, the three of them – oh, pardon me. I meant no offence.”

The man scribbled notes in his book and put it back into his pocket. “Thank you. You have been most helpful after all. I shall check on their welfare. Good-day.”

Jamie climbed onto the wagon and clicked the reins to get the bullocks moving. He was shaking through and through and was glad of something to do with his hands. He needed to get a message to Sally, but he felt certain the police had nothing other than a missing person. And in this country a man could please himself when and where he went.

A few hours later he called into the pub to drop off the ice as usual. Sally came out as soon as he pulled the wagon to a stop.

“I got your message. Don’t worry, Maggie and the girls are fine. Emily wouldn’t let the constable speak to the girls at all. They were too scared anyway. Poor things. Their eyes were nearly bulging from their heads. Maggie was working in the kitchen, and Emily insisted on being with her so he wouldn’t interrupt her work for too long. I told him the same as you did. I asked you to help me bring Maggie here because she was sick. Emily backed me up.”

Jamie hugged Sally and swung her around, relief surging through him. He dropped a quick kiss on her forehead. “You are an angel, Sally Forsythe. Now let me unload this ice and you can tell me what else was said.”

After Jamie had installed the block into the icebox, they talked in lowered voices in the cool room.

“Maggie hardly said a thing – but then she hasn’t for weeks. When asked a question, if she could answer with a nod or a shake of her head, she did. She admitted she and her brother had had a fight; she had no memory of anything else that happened that day, and she had no idea where her brother was now.”

“He did,” Sally reassured him. “Especially when I told him the girls had come running to me for help, and when I got there I found her unconscious on the floor, burning up with fever. I never mentioned O’Neill, and the copper didn’t ask me if I’d seen him. I got to tell you though, Jamie, I’m worried about your Maggie.”

Jamie nodded. Maggie had become increasingly withdrawn as the weeks passed. She never spoke of anything that happened that day. She worked stolidly in the kitchen in exchange for their bed and board, and a whole day could pass without her speaking. Some days she just got up and walked out the door, and didn’t return for hours. When she did, she didn’t seem able to tell them where she’d been.

The girls continued to go to school as usual and regained some of their youthful exuberance, but even they couldn’t seem to bring Maggie out of her shell. Jamie couldn’t either.

They’d sit together on the back porch, or go for short walks, since her strength had left her, but she hardly spoke even then.

He did all the talking, full of ideas for the future. Where they would live, him and Maggie and the girls all together, and how happy they would be. “Imagine it, Maggie. Would you like that, aye?”

She nodded. “Aye. ’Twould be nice for the girls,” was all she said, her voice flat and distant. Often she would sit staring off into space, never once letting on what was in her thoughts, never mind how much prodding Jamie did.

He wasn’t sure why she was so weakened. She’d not had the fever like they were telling everyone, but only Sally and he knew that, and maybe the girls, if they understood it all. The fight had taken it out of her, and she had taken days to recover. The bruises turned many shades of blue, purple and yellow before she could walk properly again.

The story they’d told Emily McKendrick was as close to the truth as they dared yet still remain credible. She had believed them. She knew Michael O’Neill was a violent bully, and was prepared to shelter the woman and the girls, if only to get them away from him for as long as was needed.

Jamie sighed. “Aye. You’re right to be worried, I think, Sally. I had hoped Maggie would regain her spirits and we could marry, but time’s passing and little’s changed. Maybe I should get her away from here. What do you think? Should we go see Brigid?”

At the mention of Brigid’s name, Sally felt a load lift off her shoulders. How strange. On the ship, she’d considered herself the stronger of the two, but Brigid had a way with her that might bring Maggie out of her apathy. “Aye, Jamie. I think you might be right there. Brigid could be the answer to your prayers.”

Sunday was Sally’s least favourite day of the week. The bar was closed, and not being much of a churchgoer like the others, she spent the day idly wasting away the hours. A walk through the Queens Gardens among the palms, figs and frangipani in the cooler months after the unbearable heat of summer often filled a pleasant hour or so. She found it refreshing.

On this particular Sunday, she’d intended to write to Brigid, but found the task laborious, and she wasn’t quite sure what she would say anyway. She’d failed to come up with anything definite in the six months she’d promised Brigid it would take; Jamie was in trouble and needed help, but she couldn’t bring herself to write about that sequence of events; and she was fretting about Mr Carruthers, who had not let up. Despite the fact she had deliberately let him win a few card games to restore his standing with his colleagues, his advances towards Sally had become more pressing. She’d bluffed, cajoled and hinted, all to little avail. A walk would be a reprieve.

The distant crunch of shoes on the shingle path went unnoticed until they were nearly upon her. A fleeting thought – men walking, not ladies – and a man appeared on either side of her.

Her startled gasp was cut short when one of the men linked his arm through hers and muttered, “Keep your mouth shut or you’ll get this in your side.” A sharp pinprick pierced her dress midway down her ribs.

The other man raised his Derby hat briefly. “Good day to you, Miss Forsythe. If you would care to accompany us, there is someone who wishes to speak with you.”

“What if I don’t want to go with you?” Her voice faltered, belying her haughty look and body language. The knife – at least she assumed it was a knife; she hadn’t dared look – pressed harder against her skin.

“Wise decision. We shall continue to the end of the path and pick up the carriage waiting for us.” His voice was cordial as he clasped his hands behind his back and began to promenade. He looked casually around as if he was simply enjoying the fresh air and scenery with two friends, but she heeded his instruction.

“I told you, someone wants to speak with you.” His tone didn’t change. Anyone observing from a distance, but unable to discern his words, would not have taken any notice of the trio enjoying a Sunday walk.

“It seems you’ve been less than co-operative. Stop asking questions and do as you are told.”

They boarded the barouche – the man with the knife sat beside her, while the other man sat opposite, wearing a smug smile – and the driver set off at a steady clip towards the slopes of Castle Hill. They travelled in silence until the vehicle turned onto a long lane bounded by an avenue of trees. The circular driveway led to a grand, single-level house with shaded verandahs, latticework and several sets of steps, set in the middle of a large expanse of lawn. It spoke of money and power.

They alighted and the man who had spoken escorted her up one set of steps, through the French doors, open to the fresh air, and into an elegant library.

She decided to go on the attack. “What is the meaning of this, Mr Carruthers? I’m not partial to being kidnapped and brought here against my will. I wish to leave. Please instruct your man to take me back to the hotel immediately.”

The portly, but elegantly attired dignitary casually dismissed the man who stood behind her. He rose from his wingback chair, came around from behind his desk and coolly approached her. “When I am good and ready, I will be only too happy to oblige, Miss Forsythe. But there is something I wish to say to you first.” He hooked his thumbs into his fob pockets and rocked on his heels. “I’ve been a patient man, very patient, but I will not put up with your ridicule any longer. You will become my mistress or you will suffer the consequences. Do you understand me?”

A flutter of fear flapped its wings inside her. “Why me? Why choose an unwilling companion when I’m sure you could find many more agreeable partners?”

He stared at her for a few moments, rubbing his chin and pursed his lips as if weighing up his answer. “I like a challenge. That’s why. You humiliated me, so I intend to return the favour.”

“It wasn’t intentional and have I not rectified my error of judgment of late?” She could almost hear the begging tone in her voice.

“Of course, but that doesn’t change anything. And that is why you are here with me, instead of with my man who accompanied you here. He can be very persuasive.”

An icy chill ran up her spine as she gingerly touched her side where the man had held the knife.

His face creased into a fearsome grin. Stepping closer, he cupped her chin in his hand and turned her face from side to side. “It would be a pity to spoil that pretty face of yours.”

Her skin crawled, and she fought to control the bile rising in her throat. The loathing in her eyes would have stopped a kinder man in his tracks. William Carruthers was not kind.

He let her go, wandered across the room and stood looking out over the garden, with his back towards her. “The choice is entirely yours, but I’ll be generous. You are free to go – for now. But the next time I ask you to come to me, you will come. Not here, of course. This was convenient because my wife is away visiting, but you know how easy it was to bring you to me today. Do not think I wouldn’t apply the same method next time.”

He had ceased to be charming, and Sally had no illusions as to how dangerous this man could be.

“Jamie, Jamie. Where have you been?” Sally demanded, desperate to talk with him. “We’ve got to get away from here. All of us. Today. Now.”

After a contrived late morning tea, the driver had returned Sally to within walking distance of the hotel. She’d insisted on getting out beforehand in case people recognised the carriage, although she suspected it had been hired for the day, rather than being Carruthers’ own. She searched frantically for Jamie during the afternoon but couldn’t find him. Even Maggie didn’t know where he was, and Laura, who usually clung to his side, wasn’t any help either.

“Hold tight, Sally. Don’t go getting yourself worked up into a lather. What’s all this about?” Jamie demanded, holding on to both her arms and bending down a little so he could see her face.

“It’s a long story, Jamie. And I shoulda told you about my worries a long time ago, but I thought I could handle it. Mrs Emily will be that peeved with me about it, an’ all.”

Afraid she’d be overheard, Sally led Jamie to the bench under the Moreton Bay fig at the back of the hotel. She quickly related all that had taken place with William Carruthers from the first night she beat him at cards. “Mrs McKendrick doesn’t know – I didn’t want to embarrass her or risk losing my job. She said no men, but she didn’t say anything about no cards.”

Telling him about how she was abducted and menaced put her into shock. She started to tremble from head to toe and couldn’t sit still. She talked faster and faster with each breath. “I’m that scared, Jamie. I am. And in such a dither.” It never entered her head to become Carruthers’ mistress. She didn’t think she could ever willingly go with a man. Her flesh cringed at the memory of those other unwelcome hands and forced couplings. But more than that, she understood his sort. Once he was finished with her, he was just as likely to carry out his threat anyway, for revenge. To make sure no one else ever looked at her the same way. “The man is evil. He will do what he threatens. I have to get away. Oh, poor Emily. She’s been good to me – to us – but I canna stay. Neither should you. Come with me, Jamie, please. Come with me. Let’s go find Brigid and, and ...”

She didn’t know what the ‘and’ could be. Finding Brigid seemed a good idea at first, but she would need to get further away than that. He would look for her and he would find her.

Jamie sounded distracted, which came as a jolt to her, given what she’d just told him. “Well, what’s up with you, ye numpty? I tell you my life’s in danger, and you tell me not to fret!” Giving him a quizzical eye, she repeated her question. “Where have you been?”

He turned his face away and started pacing around. “The police have been back asking questions again about Michael. They don’t know anything, but someone gave them that story about a woman and bloke picking them up in a wagon. It’s only a matter of time, I fear.”

Sally’s heart dropped into her stomach. “All the more reason for us to get out of here then.”

Jamie nodded. “I was thinking the same thing on my way back from the ravine.”

Other people may have been rendered speechless by his recklessness, but Sally wasn’t. “You went up there again? What a dang fool thing to do. Do you want to get found out? Right, that settles it. We’re leaving – all of us. Have you told Maggie where you went?” Jamie shook his head. “No? Good. Well, don’t say anything yet. We have to think about this.”

“What do you think I’ve been doing all day?” Jamie sounded angry, desperate. “I can’t make four people, five if you come with us, just disappear, now can I? And if we up and leave, the police will get even more suspicious. Maybe you should take Maggie to Brisbane. Say we thought she needed medical help and you knew someone.”

Sally weighed up the possibilities, but her own worries that Carruthers would find her, never mind where she was, surfaced again. “And then what? I told you, ’twouldn’t be safe. And what about Laura and Jane? What’s going to happen to them? And you, for that matter?”

“The girls will be fine. They do more of the looking-after than Maggie does anyway. And it’ll look better if the girls are still around.”

Jamie spun to face her. “Enough with the questions. How am I supposed to think with you boithering at me all the time?”

Both had fiery tempers, and under stress they flared in a flash. “So it’s my fault now, is it? You got me into this shite in the first place. You and that nincompoop you’ve fallen for. But it looks like it’s up to me to get us out of it. You can’t seem to think straight. What did you think you were doing, going up to the ravine?”

“Why don’t you just go your own way and leave us be, if that’s what you think? You’re not so canny yourself. Look at the mess you’ve made of things.”

“Jamie. Sally,” cried Laura running up to Jamie and wrapping her arms around him. “Stop it. What are you screeching and yelling at each other about? It’s got me fair spooked.”

Chagrined, Jamie and Sally looked at each other, nodded and silently agreed to drop their argument – for now, at least. They still hadn’t solved the problem.

“It’s all right, lass. There’s nothing for you to worry your wee head about. Sally and me were just trying to sort out what’s best.”

Discomforted that Laura should pick up on the cause of their to-do, Sally squatted next to the child. She rested her hand on the girl’s shoulder and spoke softly to her. “Like Jamie said, sweet pea, no need for you to worry about a thing.” But with a quick glance at Jamie, she added, “There’s no trouble exactly, but I’ll be moving away soon.”

Laura suddenly let go of Jamie and wrapped her arms around Sally’s neck, nearly knocking her over. “No. You can’t leave us. I wouldn’t know what to do without you.”

Sally’s arms reached around the girl to comfort her. “There there, lass. I’ve been thinking about that too. Maybe we should all go – you and Jane, Jamie here, and Maggie and me – and find another place to live. Would you like that?”

Laura thought about it for a moment. “I think so, especially if we can all be together. I don’t like it here. But where will we go?”

“That’s what we was on about,” said Jamie. “Sally and me, well, we just couldn’t agree on the where and how. We will. Don’t you grieve none, little one. Now off you run.”

Laura hesitated. “The police’ve been to see Maggie again. They were asking more questions about the day of the fight between her and Pa.”

“When was this?” demanded Jamie, looking at Sally with horror as she turned several shades of ashen.

Jamie bit back his annoyance she hadn’t told him earlier. “What did Maggie say, Laura? It’s important you tell me everything.”

“Nothing. Like last time, Maggie sat and stared at the wall. It was like she was under a spell or something. He didn’t get cross with her or anything, but I could tell he wasn’t happy. He said he’d be back.”

“Ah, well, that’s good. All’s well after all. And thank you for telling me. But Laura, can you remember to tell me these things when they happen, so I know. I can’t take care of Maggie properly if I don’t know.”

Laura nodded but scuffed her shoe, making an arc in the dust, obviously unwilling to leave until she shared another fear. “That day ...” she began and stopped.

“That day I hid Jane in the bushes. I didn’t tell you everything. Um ... Should I?”

Jamie led them back to the bench, sat down and lifted Laura onto his knee. Sally sat beside them, her nerves tingling with dread.

Laura wrapped her arm around Jamie’s neck. “When I went back to find Maggie, I didn’t tell you the whole truth. I did see Pa lying there. I knew he was dead soon as I saw him.”

Sally inhaled deeply, grasping how traumatic that would have been for the girl. Jamie closed his eyes as if in prayer. When he opened them again, he took a deep breath and let it go again. “I’m right sorry to hear that, Laura. It’s not a thing a young one should see.”

“Some people came and took him away, and he was buried right proper, lass.” Jamie crossed his fingers and hoped his lie would go undetected. He didn’t want Laura to know the truth – not ever.

“That’s good.” Laura didn’t appear perturbed by the news. “Pa wasn’t a nice person, was he?”

“Don’t think unkindly of your Pa,” said Sally, thinking about her long ago dead father who she blamed for the troubles in her life. Only pain lay that way. “He had his problems, and we shouldn’t judge people when we don’t know what drives them. Pray for him.”

Again, Laura just nodded. Wounds like hers would take a lifetime to heal, if ever. “Should I tell the policeman where I hid the poker?”

“No!” They both breathed, trying not to shout so they didn’t scare the child.

“I don’t t’ink that’s a very good idea at all,” said Jamie. “But maybe you should tell me and Sally the whole story. Aye?”

Laura laid her head on Jamie’s shoulder and began to cry, something she rarely did. It tore at Sally’s insides, and she could only imagine how Jamie felt. Hesitantly, Laura told him what she’d found. “I thought Pa would kill our Maggie. He was in such a temper, like nothing I’d seen before. I think he would’ve if Maggie hadn’t fought him.”

“There’s a pit at the back of the house – beyond the hedge, but before you get to the wild bush. It’s hidden by long grass. Jane nearly fell in it one day when we were out exploring. That’s why I know it’s there.”

“Did you throw the poker down the pit?” prompted Sally, convinced the girl wasn’t telling her everything, but trying to ease the telling.

“There were blood on it. And I thought ...” Laura didn’t finish saying what she thought.

Sally pushed her for more information. “Did you throw anything else down the pit?”

The girl bit her lip, dropped her chin and looked guiltily at Sally. “I think you did. I think you threw several things down that pit. Am I right?”

Laura flicked her eyes up and down, watching Sally. Her chin wobbled and her head scarcely moved, but Sally took it to mean yes. Over the top of the girl’s head, she put her finger against her lips to stop Jamie from saying anything. He wiped the tears from Laura’s face with his sleeve instead.

Sally pressed on. “Maggie said there was a knife on the bench. Did you see it? Is it down the pit too?”

Again Laura barely moved her head, but simply flicked her eyes. “Axe,” whispered the girl.

“The fire-axe? Did you throw that away too?” Jamie checked. “And the maul?”

Satisfied that all four of the missing tools had been disposed of somewhere no one would ever find them, unless they were told, she could hear Jamie’s sigh of relief.

Sally was so light-headed she almost believed she would float away. “Why did you hide them?”

Jamie hugged the girl tightly. “You did well, pet. Cailín maith. Good girl. Now go see what your sister is up to. Sally and I need to talk.” He placed Laura on the ground but she didn’t run off straight away.

Both Sally and Jamie understood her unease. Maggie had been so withdrawn, and so silent, that she was no comfort to the girls.

“I hope so. I truly hope so. We just have to be patient with her, aye?” said Jamie.

“Aye,” Laura agreed, then, after giving Sally a quick hug, she raced off, outwardly a happy child again.

A look of unbearable sorrow crumpled Jamie’s face. “I hope not. It’s bad enough Laura has to carry the burden of such memories, but I suspect nothing Laura does escapes Jane.”

They sat wordlessly for a few minutes as each of them digested the news Laura had provided.

“Helps, I think. Without a weapon or any evidence, who’s to say what happened and who struck the first blow. Still, does it matter either way? Without a body, there’s nothing to prove he hasn’t just up and left.”

Memory urged her to demand, “Is that why you went to the ravine? To see if you could see the body?”

“Nothing. Even the bush where I broke the branches has grown back. There’s not a footprint or wagon track I could see.”

“Except what you left behind today, eejit.” Sally was cross with him again. “So, what do we do now?”

It had sounded simple enough – they’d take passage with one of the vessels heading south – but nothing was that simple.

While demand for supplies and deliveries meant ships plying their trade along the eastern coastline sailed daily with the tide, Jamie failed to persuade any of the captains to take the women and girls along. He asked several, becoming more insistent each time, but the answer was always the same: “We can take you, if you’re prepared to work the passage, and maybe one other. But a coaster is no place for women and children. I’ll not take four.”

Jamie trudged back to the hotel in the early evening, simmering about the delay. “No luck again, Sal. Looks like we’ll have to take the regular passenger vessel after all.”

Discouraged, but wildly anxious to get away, Sally’s retort was sharper than intended. “But that’s not going to work. They want names, and if we give them our names, it’ll be easy to track us down. You know that.”

“You try then. See if you can persuade any of them. The captains just won’t let women and children on board.” Jamie ran his fingers through his hair and clasped his hands behind his head.

“Sorry, Jamie. I didna mean to snap your head off. I’m just upset, aye. The rail line’s not all the way through yet. It would take weeks of toing and froing, and Maggie’s not up to that. What other option is there? The mail coach?”

Just then, Laura stuck her head around the door. “Are there any more murphys, Sally? Maggie says there’s enough for tonight’s dinner, but we’ve nearly run out.”

“Not glum, lass, just trying to sort out the best way to take a wee break from the questions and worries for a while. But we have to give our names to get the tickets and that’d make it too easy for the police to find us again. Maggie needs a complete rest.”

After the initial shock at the simplicity of the girl’s plan, Sally started to laugh, which set Jamie off too.

“Aye, you could well be right, an’ all,” said Jamie. “And what name would you suggest?”

The girl wavered for a minute. “Murphys – that’s what I came to ask you about. How about Murphy?”

“A potato?” Jamie was aghast, but Sally said, “It’s perfect. Plain. Common. Irish. What more could you want?”

And so they agreed. The Murphy family would board the next steamer bound for Brisbane. Sally gave him the money she had put aside and sent him off to the harbourmaster’s office.

Jamie returned a short while later with five tickets. “That was easier than I thought it’d be. We sail on the early morning tide.”

Next she sent him to hand in his notice at work and tell them his cousin had taken sick up north and he had to go see him. He’d be back when he could. Then he was to take some of his things, but not all, from his lodgings at Mrs Hoskins’ boarding house and leave a few coins to cover his board. It wouldn’t pay for him to vanish without reason.

Thankfully, Sunday evenings were quiet affairs since the bar was shut. After dinner, Sally packed up Maggie’s and the girls’ few belongings into carry bags – most of their possessions had been left in the cottage and no one wanted to go back there – and made the girls go to bed early. She promised she would wake them in plenty of time.

She and Jamie had agreed not to write to Brigid and tell her what they intended. They’d have to take the chance she was at the address they had for her, but they couldn’t take the risk the postmaster would remember one of them posting a letter. The address would be a giveaway, should the police start asking questions. They had to disappear.

Even so, Sally couldn’t leave Emily McKendrick without saying something. She didn’t want to tell Emily about Carruthers and his threats. He was a good customer, and she deserved his patronage, but if she knew what he’d done, Emily would kick up a right fuss. This way they could all go on as normal.

In the end, Sally decided to leave a letter for her to find after they’d gone.

Dear Mrs Emily,

Yer’ve bin gud to me, and I thank ye for all yer’ve dun. I’m really sorry I’ve got to leave without a gud by or to tell ye why. Things hav gon bad for me and I need to go away where a man won’t find me. Please don’t tell any one. I will write one day when things get better. Yer’ve bin a gud friend. I won’t forget you.

Sally

It would have to do. It wasn’t the best letter, she knew, but she didn’t have the strength to write what she really wanted to say.

“Mrs B, I don’t know what to say.” Brigid clutched the newspaper advertisement Beatrice Browne had given her, reading it through again, trying to grasp what her employer was offering.

In the weeks since Mrs Browne had told Brigid to take control of her life and not get caught up in the clash between her husband and her son, tempers had escalated. Frequent outbursts between the two men could be heard ringing around the house. Mr Browne wanted Philip to travel to England again to buy more stock. Philip had refused unless his father gave in and allowed him a say in the way the business was run, and the right to use the brand in his expansion ideas. They reached an impasse. But that didn’t stop them yelling at one another at every opportunity. Beatrice was at her wits’ end.

The advert was from a New Zealand paper. How Mrs Browne found it was anyone’s guess, but a Mr A Munro, Draper of Auckland was quitting the business and offering the goodwill and stock at a ridiculously low price.

“I’d love the chance. But how? I’ve not got any money and wouldn’t know how to go about all that business stuff.”

“I do. Despite what my husband thinks, I know a few things about business. I know what women want, and how they want to dress themselves and their houses. I have money of my own – and ideas, too. Not that Philip would notice me either. But I can’t be seen to interfere. I’m prepared to purchase the building and the stock, if you are willing to go to New Zealand and ...”

“You came here on your own. Why should going to New Zealand be any different? It’s only a few days by sea. I’d be sorry to lose you, but you’d be doing me a far larger service by going.”

Beatrice had planned it all. She’d even talked to her bank manager. She had the means, the determination and the opportunity to bypass her husband’s pig-headedness and meant to take it. “The shop is small, but it has passing foot traffic and rooms above it. All you have to do is give the customers what they want.”

With accommodation sorted, stock on hand and an existing clientele, Beatrice couldn’t see how they could go wrong.

Brigid wasn’t so convinced. “How will I know what that is? I’ve never ...”

“Brigid. Stop arguing. You do know. You sew, design and make lace, and lots more besides, and you teach it, for goodness’ sake! You’ve chosen fabrics and threads, and all the notions and trims. You know what is needed.”

Mrs Browne continued without a pause: “All I’m asking you to do is open the doors in the morning, sit in the shop making your lace and let the customers come to you. When they come in, sell them what they want and write down the amount in a book.”

Beatrice and Brigid talked about how she would price the stock, based on what they paid for retail stock here, and how she would replenish it.

“Hopefully, I’d have sorted those men out by then, and I’ll allocate a share from the store here,” answered Beatrice confidently.

Brigid thought of another problem. “What shall you call the shop? Not Harrison Browne, I’m guessing.”

“Not yet, anyway. I can’t openly oppose my husband, but Philip’s ideas are the way of the future. Now, let me think ... how about ‘Miss Brigid’s, Ladies’ Mercer’?”

Brigid was shocked and embarrassed. It would look like she was reaching above her station – she was a simple country girl, not a bigwig. “Oh, no, Mrs B, I couldn’t. It’s not mine, it’s yours.”

“Not until I get my way. I don’t want to be seen to be involved. This way it looks like you up and left us for a chance in New Zealand that just happens to be exactly what Philip wanted but couldn’t have. Don’t worry, my dear. Your future will be secure.”

Brigid raised her eyes heavenward. What do You say, Lord? Is this Your Will for me? Every time I ask for a sign, Master Philip appears in some way. Now it’s Mrs Browne offering me the same thing. Is my destiny tied to them?

Beatrice continued to talk about the details, excited with her plans, while Brigid debated the alternatives.

She could stay on as Mrs Browne’s housemaid. But that would put her in close proximity to Philip and, despite their initial fanciful affinity, nothing more could come of it. There couldn’t be anything romantic between them, and Philip’s father had made certain there wouldn’t be any work for her in his store. She couldn’t bear to be reminded of the lost possibilities every day.

She could leave and try to find other employment, but where? She didn’t want to be a maid for the rest of her life, but since she couldn’t imagine why anyone would employ her to be anything other than a maid, that was the least appealing choice.

Briefly, she considered Mrs Janet Walker, Brisbane’s largest ladies’ costumier, who employed over a hundred girls. Could she earn her living as a seamstress? While she knew her skills were as good as, if not better than, much of what she’d seen, why would Mrs Walker take on someone new when she employed so many already? She’d heard they worked long, long hours for little reward and even less recognition, so she’d certainly be no better off. And where would she live? And when would she make her lace?

She could go to Sally in Townsville, but Sally had promised to write with some ideas about what they could do together to earn a living, and hadn’t. Brigid didn’t know what that meant. Had Sally forgotten her? She didn’t think so, they’d been close on the ship, but Sally had said little in the few letters she’d written, and nothing for some time.

But if she was thinking of leaving Mrs B, and Brisbane, then ... She could accept the offer, except it scared her to death.

Oh Lord, help me. I am riddled with doubt. What is Your plan? I keep asking for Your guidance, but everything that comes my way seems too lofty for a girl like me. I can’t believe You want me to reach so high. Tell me what to do.

The older woman looked intently at her, clearly weighing up her words. Brigid tried to fathom what she was thinking from her expression, but the longer her employer took to answer, the more frightened she became.

“Because you have special gifts. But you are also the most maddening of creatures. You are smart and talented but so meek and humble that I despair of you.” Mrs Browne’s exasperated tone of voice and manner sent Brigid’s heart racing. “But you are also the most genuine person I’ve met in some time.”

Is that really how Mrs Browne saw her? Brigid saw herself entirely differently, but she felt something shift inside her.

“Listen to me, Brigid. I have told you this before, but you obviously haven’t listened properly. So listen now. I am not offering you anything I consider beyond your abilities. I would not ask you to join me in this venture if I thought you weren’t worthy of it. When I say you have special gifts, I mean it. You have a way with people I find astonishing. You can’t see it yourself because it’s a natural part of you, but you draw people to you. You instinctively know how to help them feel better about themselves, but you seem incapable of feeling good about yourself. You are more skilled with a needle than I’ve ever seen – including the gowns from Mrs Walker’s, which are superb – but your embroidery, your lacework and your crochet work is of superior standard. Why do you think I’ve never suggested you could work for her?”

Elated by the praise and amazed Mrs Browne had read her thoughts, Brigid stammered, “I ... I don’t know. I didn’t know you’d considered it.”

“Well, I had. But I wanted to keep you for myself. Everyone admires the shawl you made. It is so soft it can be threaded through my ring, as you well know. Philip told me you could make something finer than the one I had – and you did. Mrs Walker asked me who had made the lace bodice on my gown, and who had embroidered the sleeves of my jacket. She wanted that girl. I refused to tell her.”

“Yes. Truly. And you would have thought of it yourself if you had an ounce of ambition, but you are so lacking in conceit that you fail to see your own qualities. You are far too kind, generous and willing for your own good. That is what I see in you, and that is why I want you to be the face to my enterprise. Understood?”

Brigid had flushed every shade of pink to scarlet and back again during Beatrice’s homily, but deep inside her the words started to feel real. Everything Mrs Browne had said was true, but she’d always felt it boastful to admit she was good at what she did and blasphemous to take advantage of the gifts she’d been given for her sole betterment.

Looking back over the last seven months since she had disembarked the ship with her head held high, determined to do something with her life, she had somehow failed to live up to her promises. In the aftermath of the flood, finding Philip was not who she thought he was, and feeling safe under Mrs Browne’s patronage, she’d almost forgotten those promises and the goals she’d set herself. She’d allowed herself to slip back into the dutiful servant she and her family had been for generations. After all, she’d been born to it.

“In this country,” continued Mrs Browne, “people make of their lives what they are capable of doing, not what they were born to.”

There she goes again, reading my mind. Brigid opened and shut her mouth, not quite able to say anything as Mrs B mirrored Jamie’s thinking. How are you, Jamie? Are you making the life you dreamt about? I wish I knew.

“Get that outdated notion out of your head, girl, and look forward. I believe you can make a success of this New Zealand idea. Now, what do you say?”

The warm glow she’d started to feel while Mrs Browne laid a bucket of accolades at her feet mushroomed. If Mrs B believed in her, then in duty, she should believe in herself too. “I think I’d like to try. That is – if it’s what you want for me to do – then maybe ...”

Brigid wrung her hands in trepidation, but for the first time she truly believed the course of her life was about to change for the better.

“Pardon me, Mrs B,” Mavis interrupted, as she entered the conservatory. She smiled when she saw the excited look on Brigid’s face and the satisfied expression on her employer’s. “Persuaded her then, did you?”

“I’m that pleased for you, girl. Take what is offered, and honour the gift by being successful.”

Brigid was astounded Mavis knew anything about the offer, but if Mrs B had confided in and discussed the matter with Mavis, it just went to show how much thought Mrs Browne had given the situation – and how serious she was.

“Oh, yes. Sorry, sometimes I’d forget my brain. There’s some people at the door asking for Brigid. What would you like me to do with them?”

The arrival of Jamie, Sally, Maggie and the girls created quite a commotion. Mavis had shown them into the house through the front door and settled everyone around the table in the kitchen with tea and scones, and lemonade for the girls. Delighted at seeing one another again, friends and cousins talked over one another trying to get a word in.

But after the initial emotion had worn off, quietness descended over them. Sally and Jamie cautiously answered Brigid’s questions but were plainly reluctant to give details about why they were here while Mavis and Mrs Browne were in the room.

Beatrice Browne was the first to make her exit, leaving Brigid with time to catch up with her visitors. “You’ll have to excuse me, Brigid, I’ll be going out now. I have some charity work to do. There are still poor souls in need of help after the flood. You are welcome to entertain your guests as long as you wish, and they are welcome to stay for the evening meal.”

“Thank you, Mrs Browne.” Brigid started to bob a curtsy until she caught the woman’s eye and refrained.

Mavis took the hint. “Brigid, if you don’t mind, I’ll leave you to get dinner started. I’ve got errands to run, so I must be away now.” She bustled out of the room to collect her hat and coat, and on her return picked up a basket and headed out the kitchen door. “Cheery bye. Enjoy your company.”

Brigid was beside herself with joy at seeing those who mattered to her most on this far side of the world. Even Maggie – for all her faults and the separation from Jamie that Brigid blamed on her – but she seemed quieter and more remote than she remembered. “Are you well, Maggie? I hope that cousin of mine is treating you proper.”

Brigid noticed how much the girls looked to Jamie, and even to Sally, for approval to take food, or answer a question, rather than to their aunt. They were far more subdued than they had been on the journey, but then much had happened to her in the last seven months, and she suspected a great deal had occurred to change them too. She would ask in time, but for the moment knowing Jamie could comfort them was both a surprise and a blessing.

“Aye, Breeda. Townsville didn’t offer the chances I’d hoped for, and since Michael was still against me, he and Maggie ... well, ah ... let’s say they didn’t live comfortably together. We hoped maybe you could help us settle here in Brisbane, near you. Or if you know of work elsewhere, I’d be happy to look. Can ye help us, our Breeda?”

The looks that passed between Jamie and Maggie, and Jamie and Sally, were not lost on Brigid. Her heart cried out. Something was amiss. “I’ll ask around, Jamie, that I will. But as you can see, I live in and can’t offer you a place right now. Mrs Browne is a good woman. And generous. I’ll tell you all about it when the time’s right, but for now, let’s see what she can suggest as a place for you to stay in the meantime – until you find your feet. She knows lots of people, does Mrs Browne. I’ll ask as soon as she comes home.”

Their conversation was genial but superficial. Each in their own way was assessing the other, and re-establishing the rapport they’d once had.

Listening to the talk, Brigid wondered where they were headed. They all wanted to believe Australia would be a good move and the living easier, but she wasn’t so sure the reality was stacking up for Jamie and Sally.

As soon as Brigid started preparing the vegetables for dinner, the girls jumped to their feet, eager to help. Maggie shook herself out of her little world and quietly went to help as well. While busy hands made light work of the job, it soon became clear that busy hands also reduced the tension, and talk became easier.

“I’m right glad to see you again, our Breeda,” Jamie said at the same time as Sally spoke.

“I’ve missed you,” finished Jamie, and the warmth in his voice brought a lump to her throat, but Sally made it worse.

An awkward laugh followed while Brigid looked at the two of them. They had secrets, these two. For a moment, she felt left out but only briefly. They would tell her in their own good time. That’s why they were here.

She wiped her hands dry and sat down again, leaving the girls and Maggie to finish.

Sally took her hands and softly rubbed her thumbs across Brigid’s knuckles. “Here was I thinking I had my future planned, but it all fell apart,” said Sally. “I got it wrong, Brigid. I hate to admit it, and it’s been a long time since I got it so wrong, but there it is. There’s a man determined to do me harm. I have to get away.”

Word by word, sentence by sentence, Brigid listened to their tale – sensing more could be said, but not in front of the children. Knowing that little ears took everything in, Brigid suspected Laura knew a lot more than anyone gave her credit for.

She could hardly believe her own ears, but she understood. Not only was it possible, it had happened, and they were scared. It put all Brigid’s fears into perspective. In comparison, her doubts and insecurities were shallow and internal. Theirs were real and external – and beyond their control.

Within minutes of Mrs Browne’s return, messages had been sent and accommodation arranged for Sally, Maggie and the girls. Jamie was offered quarters in the stable if he was prepared to rough it for a few days.

Around the kitchen table over the evening meal a sense of togetherness cloaked them, and a bond was created that Brigid hoped would never be broken again.

There were short-term plans to be put in place, but looking ahead, Brigid was no longer in doubt about what her purpose was or what she would do. They needed a haven to keep them safe and someone to care for them until they healed.

“Now Philip, stop behaving like a two-year-old. You will never win your father’s approval with that attitude. Sit down.”

“But ...” Philip was lost for words. With his insides in such turmoil, he couldn’t even stand still, let alone sit, nor could he gather his wits to put together a coherent argument. All he wanted to do was roar. He could almost understand why women resorted to tears when they couldn’t control their feelings. He was close to them himself.

“I know this has come as a shock to you,” continued his mother, “but you must see it was the only option – and an unmissable opportunity.”

“But the idea was mine. I found Brigid. I could have changed the face of Harrison Browne and dragged it into the present. Now you’ve taken all that away from me.”

His mother took a sip of tea from her favourite tea service elegantly laid out on the table by the conservatory window. She offered him a plate of biscuits. He shook his head.

“No, Philip. I haven’t. What I’ve done is establish a branch in New Zealand away from your father’s control, and when he comes to term with your ideas – and he will in time – ‘Miss Brigid’s’ is already a viable business. Isn’t that what you wanted?”

A niggle in the back of his mind admitted his mother was right, but to do it without consulting him was too much to take. “Why couldn’t you talk to me about it first?”

The exasperated sigh that escaped his mother’s lips sent him straight back to his childhood. “Be reasonable, Philip. If I’d told you what I wanted to do, your father would have found out – because you would have bragged to him. You know you would, just to show him up – and then what?”

Damn it. He punched his fist into the other hand. “He would have stopped it.”

“I know your father better than you. He is a proud man. Proud of his achievements, and so he should be, given the way life began for him in this country, but he is too old to change his ways. You handled it wrong from the start. You challenged him, and like a creature protecting his territory, he fought back.”

“What should I do then? I told you Sam is still prepared to back me, but only with the store’s brand.” He took a sip of tea and carefully placed the cup back on its saucer, afraid he would break it with his ill humour.

“Be patient. The flood was a major setback, and your father is still reeling from its impact. He nearly lost everything. And he has to cope with the staff who lost people or homes or possessions and have their own problems. You can’t expect him to hand over all he has worked for and let you try new ways when he is trying to save what he has. One step at a time, Philip. Make him think he is still the kingpin, and he’ll allow ‘the boy’, as he often calls you, to test the waters soon enough.”

Philip nearly exploded with resentment. “Boy! I’m not his lackey. Even though he treats me like one.”

How could his mother sit there so calmly and serenely, with that knowing smile pleating the side of her mouth, when his life was falling apart?

“Your father has run a successful business for forty years. Did you ever think that by sending you to England he was teaching you the fundamentals of how to run that business?”

Philip stretched his legs out in front of him, crossed his feet and shoved his hands in his pockets. “I hate those trips. They are tiresome and it’s all the same. I’m not learning anything new; I’m just following orders.”

“For now, maybe.” Beatrice Browne tutted and tapped him on the knee. “Stop being petulant and sit up properly.” Philip did as he was told, picked up a biscuit to chew on, and swallowed his tea. “Of course he wants his son to take over the company. But he wants you to work your way to the top knowing it inside out. Branching out now is beyond him.”

He considered what his mother had said. She could be right for now, and as long as he mastered Brigid in the end, that was all that mattered.

He roared with laughter, his bad mood dissipating in one swoop. He might win his battle after all.

11

Consequences