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Thursday, 15th November 1888
“Your fella’s back again.” Sally recognised the jaunty walk of Tom Price the instant he came into view. Bowler hat slightly tilted back on his head, cigar in hand and wearing a beautiful, well-tied cravat and pin, he looked the essence of an up-and-coming dandy about town.
“He’s not my fella, I tell you. He’s a friend, ’tis all.” Brigid always denied the obvious, but Sally knew otherwise. Thomas Price was now a regular visitor, and Brigid had indeed accepted his invitation to walk out with him on occasions. If Brigid wasn’t smitten, Tom certainly was.
“If you say so.” Sally shrugged her shoulders. “I’ll look after the shop while you take him into the salon if you like. Just call if you need me, which I doubt.”
The once dirty anteroom had become a favourite place of theirs since its refurbishment back in April, and the more elegant furnishings they’d added since then. Brigid entertained all the society ladies in the salon, where she could show the fabrics and laces to their best advantage on the long table, and in private.
With natural light pouring in through the rear window, off-white walls and drapes, a chaise longue and two chairs with cabriole legs, the room was as elegant and modern as you’d find anywhere. Since Brigid had started selecting exclusive lengths of fabrics for preferred customers, she was able to guarantee the exclusivity she’d staked her reputation on. Dressmakers now flocked to her for materials demanded by their clients.
On warm sunny days, such as today, the women opened the doors wide, thinking them more welcoming. Tom strode on in, tossing the snub of his cigar into the street. “Bore da. And a fine good morning to you, Miss Brigid and to you, Miss Sally.”
“Good morning, Mr Price,” said Sally, lifting the hinged section of the counter top. “Come on through.”
“Will you join me? I’m about to have a cup of tea.” Brigid extended her arm towards the salon.
“Would I ever say no to anything you ask of me, Miss Brigid?” Tom’s infectious grin lit up his face, and Brigid smiled in response.
Sally tittered quietly and turned to Brigid pointedly. “What did I tell you?” she whispered.
“Thank you, Sally.” Brigid tried but failed to sound severe. “I’ll leave you to the shop, I will. I believe Mrs Armstrong will pick up her parcel this morning.”
In jest, Sally poked her tongue out at Brigid as she turned her back and retreated to the salon, leaving the door open, as usual, for propriety’s sake.
An hour or more passed. Sally could hear voices in the background, but they were muted and no laughter had erupted to startle the steady stream of customers.
“I’m sorry, Mrs Dufresne, Miss Brigid is tied up for the moment. Would you like me to make an appointment for you? Say, tomorrow?”
At a time when Sally was trying to serve three customers at once, a man walked into the shop. Voices stilled and, as one, they turned to look at him. A man in a ladies’ shop was a rarity, but a fashionable gentleman with an arrogant tilt of his head was unheard of. Sally recognised him instantly, even though she hadn’t seen him for more than two years. Her spirits plummeted.
“I’ll be with you in a moment, sir. Now Mrs Smith ... your parcel. Ah, yes. You’ve chosen well, Mrs Sedgely.”
As quickly and efficiently as possible, Sally completed the sales for the women still hovering around the counter, watching the man who was inspecting the place from top to bottom, peering intently into each of the glass-topped display drawers. Moving from behind the counter, Sally guided the ladies to the door. As soon as they’d stepped onto the footpath, she closed the doors and slid the bolt home.
She gathered her breath and pasted a smile on her face before she turned towards him. “Mr Harrison-Browne. It’s been a long time. What brings you to ‘Miss Brigid’s’?”
The man flinched slightly at the inference Sally made as to who owned the shop. He inclined his head slightly but did not remove his hat. He carried gloves in the hand that held his cane, his shoes were the latest fashion and he looked prosperous, and indifferent. For a man whose father had just lost everything, he seemed remarkably assured. “Miss Forsythe, I believe? If my memory serves me.”
Sally said nothing. In the silence, a murmur of voices could be heard, and she immediately attempted to cover the sound with a cough. “Pardon me,” she apologised. “This is a surprise. Can I help you?” Retreating behind the counter, she bustled about tidying up the laces.
“No, I don’t think you can. I wish to see Brigid. Will you fetch her for me? That is, if it’s not too much trouble for such a busy person.”
Rude creature, thought Sally, standing her ground. “Ah, but Miss Brigid is tied up at the moment. Can I ask you to come back in about an hour?”
Philip raised his chin and sneered. “You could, but as it is not convenient for me to do so, I will ask you again to fetch her.” He took two paces forward and stood immediately in front of her. She was grateful the counter was between them. “Or I will find her myself.” His threat was not a hollow one.
Without warning, his hand flashed across the counter, and he caught her chin between his thumb and forefinger. “You always were a pretty little thing.”
Instinctively, she batted his hand away. “Take your hand off me.”
“Fiery too. Mm, I like what I see.” He chuckled. “Now, will you get Brigid or will I?”
“Wait here,” she ordered, and feeling distinctly nauseated, hurried to the back room. She shut the door behind her and leant against it, afraid she would fall down without its support.
“Sally. Whatever is the matter? You’ve gone a funny shade of green.”
If the alarm in Brigid’s face meant anything, at least she’d do as Sally asked without argument. “Come to the kitchen with me, will ye?”
Brigid looked at Tom. “I’ll be back in a minute.”
“I’ll be here, waiting for you.”
Sally made sure the salon door was securely closed and pulled Brigid across the corridor into the kitchen. “It’s Philip Harrison-Browne. He’s out front,” she hissed. Brigid’s eyes widened with shock. “I tried to put him off until Mr Price has gone, but he’s insisting on seeing you right now.”
“Aye, well. I’d better speak with him, then.” Brigid turned to leave.
Sally grabbed her arm and held her back. “Don’t let him see Mr Price. He’ll put two and two together and make it into something it’s not.” Sally didn’t say that Philip had frightened her. She lowered her voice. “And you mustn’t let him see Maggie either.”
Comprehension registered in Brigid’s eyes. She nodded. “Will ye see Mr Price out the back door then, will ye?”
“Where is she, by the way?” Sally looked around the kitchen expecting to see Maggie somewhere.
“Gone to the markets.”
Brigid patted her hair and straightened her gown, and walked into the shop. Sally followed a few paces behind and hovered by the screen dividing the store to listen in and see what developed next.
“Mr Harrison-Browne.” Brigid extended both her hands to take one of his in hers before releasing it again. “’Tis wonderful to see you, again.”
Philip bowed and smiled, returning to the suave, charming person of old. “I am so pleased I have found you at last, Brigid. You have been elusive.”
Sally detected the cold tone, despite his manners.
“We must talk at length, and you can tell me all that has been happening, that ye can. I especially want to hear about your mother,” Brigid replied enthusiastically. “But for the moment, I must apologise I’m a bit tied up. Could we meet again later? I know a delightful tearoom further up the street.”
The smile fixed on his face never quite reached his eyes.
“I can wait for a few moments more while you finish whatever you consider more important than me. I have travelled a long way to find you, but I won’t wait any longer.”
Sally turned and rushed into the salon. “Mr Price ...”
“Isn’t it about time you called me Tom, Miss Sally?” he grinned. In contrast to the menace she had felt not more than ten yards away, the natural, easy-going goodwill of this man was a tonic.
“Tom, then. But there’s no time for questions. Come with me, quickly.” She glanced around the room. “Bring your hat.”
She stuck her head around the door and, content that Brigid was still chatting to Philip in the front, she beckoned to Tom and hurried him into the kitchen.
“What’s going on?” A frown creased Tom’s brow.
“Miss Brigid will tell you when she can, but right now can I ask you to leave? By the back way. It’s important.”
Tom shrugged, seemingly nonchalant again. “Anything to help. Tell Miss Brigid I’ll be back later.”
Sally sighed, relieved. “I’ll send you a message. Are you staying at your usual boarding house?”
He confirmed he was and skipped down the three back steps into the yard and set off down the alleyway.
She had just shut the kitchen door behind her when Brigid appeared in the corridor, heading towards the salon. The question on Brigid’s face was obvious. Sally nodded.
Brigid raised her voice slightly so Philip could hear. “Aye. Miss Forsythe, will you unbolt the front door again, please. I would hate to turn customers away. And then I’d like you to join us in the salon. We’ll hear the bell should anyone come in.”
Sally went to do as she was bid, leaving Brigid to tidy up the two teacups.
Philip stood exactly where she’d left him, but his pose was belligerent. He meant trouble, if Sally’s instinct was anything to go by. She reached up to unbolt the door, but he grabbed her wrist. She pulled away from him, but couldn’t break his grasp. They glared at each other.
“Leave it. I don’t want anyone interrupting our little tête-à-tête.” His voice was icy smooth, and his face wore the slightest hint of a sneer.
Sally’s mouth went dry. “What do you want?”
“What’s owed me.” He let her go and Sally rubbed her wrist where he’d left red finger marks. “What was taken away from me.”
Sally didn’t quite understand his meaning. Every penny Mrs Browne had spent on stock for the shop had been repaid, and they had started paying a small monthly rental. “We owe you nothing.”
“Oh, but Miss Forsythe, I beg to differ.”
At that moment, Brigid returned. She looked between the two of them, sensing the tension and animosity. “What’s going on here?”
“Nothing, my dear Brigid.” Philip removed his hat, flopped his gloves inside and held it out with his cane for Sally to take. “Miss Forsythe and I were reaching an accord, weren’t we, my dear.”
Sally forfeited the battle and took the proffered articles.
“Now, is there somewhere private we can talk? Behind here, maybe?” Philip started to move behind the counter, but Brigid didn’t budge or allow him to pass. She clearly wasn’t convinced any accord had been reached. She smiled sweetly. “If you wish, the three of us can talk in my salon. Maybe it is better the doors stay shut for now. Come along, Sally.”
Brigid extended her arm and Sally crossed in front of her to lead the way into the salon. She placed Philip’s hat and cane on the hat stand and stood at the far side to watch Brigid and Philip come through the door.
Philip’s face was thunderous, and his temper barely under control. “Brigid, is this really necessary? It’s you I want to talk to.”
Sally saw him flick his hair into place, a sign she remembered from the ship. She was sure he was up to something.
“I think it is, Mr Harrison-Browne.” He squared his shoulders against Brigid’s self-assurance. “If you want to talk business then, aye, I need her advice. Miss Forsythe is the clever one with the figures. Please take a seat.”
Philip sat, flipping the tails of his coat. “Very well. Have it your way.” He leant back in the chair, placed one foot on the other knee and hooked his fingers in his waistcoat pocket. “I’ve come to claim my property.”
Brigid blanched. Sally knew it had been the one thing she’d dreaded ever since she’d heard about the fire.
“Forgive me, but I’m not sure I understand? Your property, did you say? What property is that?”
A wave of admiration washed over Sally. The timid girl who usually accepted authority was directly challenging him. She’d never seen Brigid like this, but then, maybe she had. Sally knew Brigid would fight to the death to protect those she loved.
He waved his hand around the room and pointed up to the ceiling. “This property. The shop, a showroom and accommodation, I believe.”
“Ah, I see. Miss Forsythe. Can you explain the arrangements we came to with Mrs Browne, please?”
After Brigid had got the money from the bank to buy the stock she wanted, Mrs Browne had agreed to offer her the right to purchase the building once she had some capital.
Philip jumped to his feet. “I know all about your little arrangement with my mother, but she had no right. You ...” he pointed at Brigid, “you have no right. You were my idea. You were mine to say what happened and how it happened. How dare you go behind my back? And as for this harlot ...” Philip swished his hand towards Sally.
Brigid stood. “I’ll thank ye to keep a civil tongue in your head. You forget your manners. I don’t know what has upset you, but I will not have such language in my house.”
Somehow, Sally managed to keep a straight face while she rejoiced for Brigid standing up to the man who once offered so much, but who had turned into a right bully.
Philip exploded. “It’s not your house. Nor your shop. And your name should not be on the door. It should be mine!”
“It’ll do you no good to get all hot and bothered, that it won’t. I’m right sorry that what you’d hoped for didn’t happen, but ’twas between you and your father. I had nothing to do with it.”
Momentarily silenced by her insight, he looked at her more calmly, but his eyes were cold. “You are an employee and I require your services in Brisbane.”
“I think you are wrong there. I don’t work for you or your father. Anyway, I have responsibilities that prevent me from leaving.”
“Responsibilities?” His dismissive harrumph troubled her.
“To my family, aye, and your mother. I was saddened to hear about the fire, and Mr Browne’s affliction, I truly was. Are you finding your way? I hope you are.” Brigid’s voice softened, and she spoke as she would to an injured child, or Maggie.
No sooner had the thought of Maggie entered her head than a soft tap sounded on the door, and Sally saw it inch open. Maggie appeared carrying a tray of tea things, as was her habit when she knew Brigid had company.
Philip stared at the woman and then looked back and forth between herself and Brigid. Sally didn’t think he would recognise Maggie from the ship, but Maggie knew who he was. She dropped the tray with a clatter, tea splattered over the floor and china shattered. She stood trembling in the middle of the room, staring.
Brigid went to her and, with a gentleness only Brigid could achieve, eased her from the room. Sally bent to clear up the mess, keeping a wary eye on Philip who had sat down again.
He was watching her. “Who was that woman?”
“A maid.”
“Have you known her long?”
“She was on the ship with us.” The words were hardly out of her mouth, and she knew she’d made a big mistake, but thankfully, Philip didn’t seem to have noticed.
“How can you afford a maid?”
Sally didn’t like the inference she detected in the question. “You’ll have to talk to Miss O’Brien about that when she comes back.”
Having collected all the broken china and put it on the tray, Sally stood up. “Excuse me while I take this away.”
“You have to get rid of him!” Sally whispered, as soon as she entered the kitchen.
Brigid was seated beside Maggie on the kitchen bench, still trying to comfort the terror-stricken woman. She got up and crossed the room to speak softly with Sally without Maggie overhearing.
“I know, but how? I’ve been trying to think of a plausible reason for him to leave, but I don’t think he’d fall for any of them.”
“We’d better come up with something quick, before he takes it into his head to go causing mischief.” Sally tipped her head at Maggie. “How’s she?”
Brigid shook her head. “Not good. Although why he particularly scared her, I don’t know. She hardly knew him on the ship and I doubt she’s seen him since. It doesn’t make sense.”
Sally bit the side of her thumb, trying to think of a connection. “Didn’t she go outside for a while when we were all at the Browne house in Brisbane? Could she have seen him there?”
“It’s possible, aye. I didn’t know he was there that day, but that might explain it. If she thinks he’s followed her and found her here then others could too.”
Following Brigid’s logic, Sally began to panic. “Maybe she’s right. I just admitted we knew her on the ship. What if the police or that madman from up north find us? Then what?”
“They won’t even be looking.” Brigid had already been through all the arguments. “Pull yourself together, Sal. We’ve more important things to worry about.”
Sally took a few deep breaths. “Well if he’s not after her, he’s certainly after you. My God, but he’s as crazy as a loon. What’s all this talk about taking back what he’s owed?”
“He’s always had the silly belief I was the key to making his dreams come true. He said without me they wouldn’t work. He’s convinced himself the only way to get Harrison Browne’s back on its feet again after the fire is for me to go back to Brisbane with him and work in the store.”
“How is that going to work? You’ve got your own business here.”
“I know that. But if he thinks his ma and I have ignored him and stolen his ideas he’ll want me to pay, tit for tat.”
“You can’t let him get away with that. What’s he got himself so twisted about all of a sudden?” Sally was indignant on Brigid’s behalf.
“It’s not so sudden, Sally. I’ve felt for a while he could be nasty when things don’t go his way. He’ll pay his father back for not believing in him, by some means or other. But listen. I think I’ve an idea that might work.”
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Philip was nowhere to be seen when Brigid re-entered the salon. His hat and gloves were gone, but his cane was still there. When she went through to the shop she found the door swinging wide open. Alarm bells jangled but, for now, at least, she could do nothing more until he returned.
She checked the appointment book and was relieved she had no more clients booked for that day. Given it was now well into the afternoon, and worried she had missed a lot of the lunchtime passing trade, she clipped the doors back hoping those who had found her closed would return later. As long as she’d not offended a regular client, all would be well, but with three ladies scheduled for the next morning, she had to prepare.
Returning to the kitchen, she asked Sally to tend the shop while she tried to rouse Maggie who had not moved or spoken since Brigid had sat her down. The girls would be home from school soon, and seeing Maggie in this state always upset them.
Still getting no response, Brigid collected her notebooks from the salon and returned to the kitchen. She would work at the table next to Maggie for the afternoon and hope her presence and a stream of inconsequential chatter might help the woman relax. Voices drifted through from the shop occasionally, and Brigid was content that business had returned to normal. Laura and Jane returned from school and while Maggie flinched at the noise they made, she remained inert.
Brigid poured them each a glass of Maggie’s homemade ginger beer and gave them an oatmeal biscuit. She had just finished asking them to do their chores when the sound of heavy feet stomping on wooden boards and Sally’s high-pitched warning coming from the shop reached her ears.
“What is it, Sally?” Standing by the kitchen door, she stuck her head into the corridor. The sight that greeted her turned her feet to lead and her stomach to jelly.
Two policemen, followed by Philip, and Sally in the rear, were heading towards her.
“Miss Brigid O’Brien?” The older officer with several braids on his uniform spoke first. “If you would be so good as to answer a few questions.”
Taking another step forward he as good as forced Brigid to move out of his way.
With Maggie, the two girls and three men, as well as herself and Sally, the kitchen was crowded.
Sally looked terrified and Philip looked pompous and self-righteous.
“I believe you may be able to help me locate the whereabouts of one James O’Brien, or a Miss Margaret O’Neill.”
Brigid placed herself on the other side of the table, her back against the stove, near Maggie. She held herself upright, even though her knees wobbled dangerously, and prayed for strength.
“This gentleman here ...” He indicated Philip who now leaned against the wall, arms folded, one foot resting on the toe of his shoe. Philip flicked his hair back when he saw Brigid look at him. “... he tells me O’Brien is a relative of yours, and Miss O’Neill was entangled with him in some way.”
“And why are you looking for Mr O’Brien?” Brigid knew only too well, but if she hedged enough she might be able to protect Maggie from their clutches.
“We believe they can help us with our enquiries into a missing person.” The policeman consulted his notebook. “A Mr Michael O’Neill.”
At the sound of his name, Maggie began to wail. She covered her face with her apron and rocked madly back and forth. The noise was dreadful. Laura and Jane scuttled around the table, clamped their arms around Sally and hid their faces against her body. She wrapped one arm around each of them and comforted them, but said nothing.
Again the officer consulted his notebook. “He went missing from Townsville in Australia in April 1887. So did his sister.”
Brigid forced herself to make light of the date. “Goodness, that’s nearly eighteen month ago. He could be anywhere by now. Australia is a big country.”
“Have any of you heard from him?”
“I have not. I don’t believe I know anything about a Michael O’Neill.” Brigid crossed her fingers behind her back at the partial lie, promising to say her prayers and take confession as soon as she could. “But I knew a Maggie O’Neill once. Aye, but that person is no longer with us, that she isn’t.”
“I see. And you, miss?” Sally shook her head. The girls edged further behind her, avoiding the man’s gaze completely.
The younger policeman scribbled down notes, and a hidden message passed between the two officers. Maggie’s wailing had shifted into a keening that was setting everyone’s teeth on edge. Even the policemen were looking uncomfortable.
“Can’t you stop her making that noise?”
Brigid shook her head. She placed her hand around Maggie’s shoulder and pulled her against her skirt. “Not when she gets like this. Not until she wears herself out. Poor woman.” Feeling utterly disloyal, but thinking it one way of getting out of this predicament, she twirled her finger near her temple to indicate Maggie was not quite sound of mind, which, in truth, she wasn’t.
The questions continued as the officer established how long she’d been in New Zealand, who her companions were and how they fitted. More lies to tell, forgive me, Lord. She stared at Philip wondering how much he knew or guessed.
Sally and the girls were sisters, she explained. They’d met on the ship coming out from the old country but lost touch until they met up again here in New Zealand. Her other friend, quiet now she was resting against Brigid, had fallen on hard times, poor soul. Buried her children after a sickness and hasn’t been right since.
“She’s lying.” Philip moved away from the wall and, placing both hands on the table, glowered at her across its surface. “I saw this one,” he pointed to Sally, “and the two girls, although they were younger then, leave my house in Brisbane before they came to New Zealand. And I think you’ll find that madwoman was there too along with O’Brien. That is Margaret O’Neill. Ask her.”
Bile rose in her throat. Why did Philip hate her so much he would destroy everything she had?
“We’re not likely to get any sense out of the woman, even if she is who you say she is,” said the senior officer. Turning his attention back to Brigid, he repeated his question. “Do you know the whereabouts of James O’Brien?”
Brigid almost sighed with relief. This was one question she could answer truthfully. “No. I do not. I haven’t seen him, or heard from him, since he sat at this table Christmas last. Does that make him a missing person too?”
“Thank you for your time, Miss O’Brien.” The senior policeman nudged the other one to put his notebook away. “This is not really our jurisdiction, Mr Harrison-Browne, so we’ll be on our way. We can’t spend any more time on it.” Turning again to Brigid, he said, “But if you do see or hear from Mr O’Brien, be sure to let us know.”
Brigid forced a smile to her lips. “Allow me to show you out.”
––––––––
To her horror, she found Philip sitting comfortably in the salon.
“Why did you bring the police to my door?” Brigid was fuming but willed herself to stay calm. Losing her temper with Philip would only make it worse, and he would find it hard to fight with someone who didn’t fight back. “What were you hoping to achieve?”
Philip’s nonchalant shrug infuriated her more. “Control, of course. I have the power and since your sense of responsibility to your so-called family seems to be part of your reluctance to return to Brisbane, I decided to show you how difficult I can make things if you don’t comply.” He stood up suddenly, angry, and towered over Brigid. “I’m in charge now. You have become too brash for your own good, my girl. Some humility wouldn’t go amiss. You had it once. I suggest you find it again.”
Brigid was shocked that the man she had once admired, and had fallen just a little bit in love with, was so eaten up with bitterness that his only avenue was malice. “Mr Harrison-Browne. I am not your enemy. Your enemy is within.”
Their eyes met, but he was the first to turn away.
Wanting to avoid any questions about Jamie or Maggie, and scared to ask how he knew anything about Michael’s disappearance, Brigid changed the subject. She needed to come up with an idea where he could save the business without her and feel justified at the same time. She was small fry in the grander scheme of things. He needed newer and bigger ideas.
“I’ve an idea or two. Will you let me help you?”
He flung around and took a couple of paces away from her, then turned on her. “What are you talking about? I am insisting you do your duty by me, and you offer me your help.”
His tone was scathing, but Brigid knew she’d hit a nerve. “We can’t go back to what was. Nor can we try to recreate your dreams as they once were, with what is.”
Brigid saw through the little act Philip put on – his astounded look, opening and shutting his mouth as if unable to put his thoughts into words and turning his back on her. But seeing the habitual flick of his hair grieved her.
“I am right sorry to hear about your troubles, that I am. Your mother wrote to me and ...”
“I bet she did,” he interrupted, resolutely keeping his back turned. “Gloating, no doubt.”
Brigid could not and would not stand for the disrespectful inference, but she kept her voice and manner as calm as her churning belly would let her. “Mr Harrison-Browne! Be kind. Or are you not the man I once knew?”
Philip didn’t respond.
She moved closer and took his arm. “Please, let me explain at least.”
Leading him to the chaise longue, she nudged him to sit beside her. He rested his elbow on the back, turned his head away and propped up his chin.
“Tell me what’s a-boithering you? What is making you so hurtful? Your mother believes in you, I know she does. It is not her fault that your father clung to his dreams for too long when he should have been respecting yours.”
His detached pose abruptly changed, and he readjusted his position to sit back, once again placing one foot on the other knee, but he still didn’t look at her. He looked at the ceiling.
“It’s too late for your smarm,” said Philip. “I decide what happens to the Harrison Browne brand from now on. And I want you in Brisbane.”
Brigid took a deep breath and prayed for guidance. “Aye, I know that, but answer me this: how can I help? And forgive me if I am wrong, but I seem to remember much of the stock was lost at the warehouse after the flood. And a fire ravaged the shop, destroying everything – or nearly all – I believe. Do you have new premises? And new stock in want of selling?”
Again Philip didn’t answer. She peered around to his half-hidden face and saw he was biting his knuckle. She took it to mean he didn’t have either and was at a loss as to where to start.
“Well, then, what to do. Like I said, I have an idea ...” Brigid paused. Now was not the right time to tell him the details. He needed to be enthusiastic about the prospects before she could plant any seeds. “You once told me your father wanted new premises in Eagle Street, and you and he fought over it. Who won the argument?”
Suddenly Philip jumped to his feet. “What’s with all the questions? I don’t need you nagging at me as well.”
Brigid looked up at him with reproving eyes, saying nothing. He held her gaze. In the past, she would have dropped her head and accepted his dominance, but not any more. She was her own woman now and had too many people relying on her to give in. She had to win him over if she was to keep her reality intact. She stared back.
Philip snapped. “He did, of course.” The anger came pouring out of him. “He went ahead and signed up for the building behind my back. Now I’m lumbered with the cost and no stock to fill it. And the stupid old man is now laid up in his bed unable to do or say anything. All I get is his disapproving eyes following me.”
A knock on the door, followed by Sally peering cautiously around the edge, halted any further exchange.
“Pardon me, Miss Brigid. I’m terribly sorry to interrupt, but there’s a Mr Price wanting to see Mr Harrison-Browne. Urgently, he says.”
How she managed to keep control of her poise was beyond Brigid. It seemed as if her heart leapt, her stomach fell and her head spun all at the same time. Would her ruse work?
“Mr Price, you say, for Mr Harrison-Browne?”
Feeling slightly panicked now, she wondered if she should keep the two of them apart after all, but the impish desire to find out how Tommy would carry it off won.
She bent her head to one side and looked at Philip with an innocent and baffled eye. “This is a surprise. Mr Price is an importer of some very fine fabrics. I wonder how he knew the well-known Mr Harrison-Browne from Brisbane was in town.”
Brigid didn’t dare look at Sally. It took all her control not to giggle.
“Shall I show him in, Miss Brigid?”
Brigid deferred to Philip, who in turn sought permission back from Brigid, but finally Mr Thomas Price was ushered into the salon.
“At your service,” said Tommy, handing over his business card. “I couldn’t believe my ears when I heard the renowned Mr Harrison-Browne, from Brisbane no less, was in Auckland. If you are looking to conduct business while you are here, sir, then I am the man for you.”
Sally stood behind Brigid who remained seated on the chaise longue. They held hands over Brigid’s shoulder and watched the theatrical performance going on before their eyes.
Tommy threw his arm around the taller man’s shoulder and compelled him to keep in step and pace around the room. Since the area was not that large, they appeared to be going around in circles while Tommy kept up an endless stream of persuasive chatter.
During the course of their conversation, Brigid learned Philip’s hands were tied until the bank and insurance company had finished their investigations and handled much of the recovery work. Two disasters within the space of eighteen months had been too much for them to leave uncontested.
Philip explained, “Gradually we increased the stock after the flood last year, but most of it had been moved from the warehouse to the store. Trade had increased tenfold, but the fire took just about everything we’d built up. One shipment is due next month that will tide us over the Christmas period, I hope, but after that, there’s nothing. It’s like starting out all over again.”
Tommy had convinced Philip that not only could he procure fabrics for him, and many other goods exclusively for the Harrison Browne store, but he could also put business his way.
Money had talked. The two men shook hands.
“Thank you for the opportunity to do business with you, Mr Harrison-Browne. And thank you, Miss Brigid, for introducing me. Until tomorrow, then.”
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The more Brigid had watched and listened to Philip, the more resolute she became. The country girl from County Clare, who’d once been flustered by his attentions, was now the more fortunate of the two. She was fulfilling her dreams while his were wasting away. She had grown in stature while he was diminished.
After Tommy had left, Philip explained why he was in Auckland.
“Mother told me what she had done about setting you up here in New Zealand. It was to be the first of the Harrison Browne branches and it would be mine, she promised me – as soon as Father shared control. But the stubborn old fool wouldn’t listen to anything she or I said. Still won’t.”
Because of his father’s indisposition, the lawyers had not sorted out the tangle that would give Philip control, since his father was sole signatory and couldn’t, or wouldn’t, put his mark to anything. Alf had continued to be the Harrison Browne right-hand man, even under Philip’s command. He was busy refitting the Eagle Street premises according to Harry’s wishes so they could reopen the shop, leaving Philip with nothing to do. The only thing still in his favour was that his friend Sam Barton had stuck by his promise of financially supporting Philip as long as the Harrison Browne brand prevailed.
“I’m itching to diversify into other areas, so I decided to start work developing the one branch we had. Imagine my surprise when I discovered not only did it not carry the Harrison Browne name, but the stock no longer belonged to me either.” He became angry and agitated again.
“My mother went behind my back and sold me out. But I still own the premises. Now I want it – and you – back.”
“That’s not quite the way it happened, and you are hardly being fair to your mother,” Brigid argued, desperate to convince him her little enterprise was beneath his attention.
Mrs Browne had decided her idea had failed because of the downturn in Auckland, and she needed a return on her money. The shop was too small to succeed under the name of Harrison Browne but it suited Brigid.
“Brisbane was on the up, she said, and I had a choice. I could stay here if I could pay her back, or I could return to her employ, and she would sell.”
“I don’t believe you.” But the habitual flick of his hair told Brigid he did. He knew, all right.
Even so, and mostly thanks to Tommy’s reasoning, Philip agreed to meet Brigid on the corner of Queen and Wellesley streets the following day after she had attended to her morning clients. She wanted to show him around town.
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The pair stood on the western side of Queen Street as people and carriages hurried past going about their business. Brigid pointed to a store across the road. “What do you see before you?”
Mrs Marianne Smith’s Cheap Drapery Warehouse business had grown considerably since its humble beginnings in 1880. Based on ‘the quick sixpence rather than a slow shilling’ precept, she partnered with her husband William, and later with Andrew Caughey, to form Smith & Caughey. The firm had moved to these grander, larger premises in 1884.
“A large drapery store. What of it?”
Brigid was keen to give Philip ideas he could take back to Brisbane without it seeming as though they came from her.
“You’ll see. The place has grown significantly in four years. It’s not just a drapery store as you know it. Come with me.”
They crossed the road and entered the building. Brigid took delight in pointing out the tailoring section, the milliner’s department and the accessories division, which sold ladies crystal dressing-table sets, knick-knacks and perfumes, as well as gloves, handkerchiefs and men’s grooming kits, among other things. Philip was interested in the haberdashery section and fabric area, but Brigid pulled him away to look at the handbags, parasols and shawls. She also took pains to ensure he saw the finished garments on display.
After a while, she tugged his arm. “We’re not finished yet.”
They strolled down Queen Street admiring the new buildings and discussing the state of some of the original buildings.
Fires had devastated Queen Street in the 1870s but had lessened since the advent of the fire brigade who had a newfangled water-throwing device called a ‘hydropult’, but building expansion had slowed since the 1886 stock market crash. Large businesses and banks were hurting and many small businesses closing down. Now was not a good time to be in business in Auckland, but shops that sold supplies were better off than those that sold services or handled money.
Their conversation was amiable enough, but not in the same the way they had talked on board the SS Dorunda two years earlier. Brigid was nervous and Philip was withdrawn.
“I hear Brisbane is doing much better,” she said.
Philip was forced to admit her sources were right. “Yes, business confidence is high now. The economy has lifted and people are spending.”
Their conversation continued until Brigid came to a stop outside the elegant frontage of the troubled Bank of New Zealand. She was glad Sally had chosen another bank for their business.
Again, she pointed across the street. “Do you want to look inside?”
Philip took her arm and, once safely on the other side again, entered Court Brothers, Drapery and Clothiers. Smaller than the Smith & Caughey building and more traditional, Court Brothers was still impressive in size and dealt mostly in wools and velvets for clothing and curtains. They also had a tearoom.
A range of felts, blankets and upholstery fabrics caught Philip’s eye, but while he found the layout and displays interesting, the diversification of Smith & Caughey interested him more, he said.
On their way down Queen Street towards the wharf Brigid had kept Philip talking so he didn’t notice they had passed ‘Miss Brigid’s’ on the other side of the street, a few doors down from the Victoria Street corner. Now they were on the same side of the street, Brigid directed them back the way they’d come. He almost walked past the shop barely a block further on, before he realised where he was. He stood looking up at the shop front as if noticing it for the first time.
Compared with what he’d just seen, the shop would appear small and old-fashioned. While it had a quaintness about it that would appeal to ladies, which was its sole purpose, it would never be in the same league as the other two stores Brigid had shown him, and she knew it. Her point of difference was the uniqueness of her product and the personal attention to detail ladies wanted.
“Would you care to buy me a cup of tea?”
Philip took her arm again, and she led him to the nearby tearooms and found a table away from the door where they could speak quietly.
After Brigid poured the tea, she approached the subject she most wanted to address. “I know it is not my place to tell you how to run your business, but can I offer you my opinion?”
Obviously deep in thought, he acceded without comment.
“The small scale operation that is ‘Miss Brigid’s’ – and I have to tell you, your mother chose that name, not me – is not what you need right now.”
“Never mind my mother. What do you know about what I need?”
Brigid bit back the retort on the tip of her tongue. They had been companionable throughout the morning; she didn’t need his resentment resurfacing before she’d argued her case. “I don’t mean to offend, that I don’t. But in the year since I’ve been in Auckland I’ve seen changes, both good and bad. The good has been the growth and variety you saw today. Both of those stores have branches in other parts of Auckland.”
Brigid took the pursed lip, a small hmm and a slight tilt of his head to mean he was impressed. “The bad has been the downturn in trade and small businesses closing up.”
“So?” He looked at her over his teacup, his eyes joyless and distant and not giving anything away.
Brigid gathered her thoughts and took a deep breath. “You agreed to listen to my opinion – so here it is.”
She reminded him about his dreams and fancies, the ones he’d outlined to her on the ship. All of them were extensions of what already existed, what his father had put in place over four decades. What he had seen today were examples of those new ideas, built on a solid base.
“You said yourself your father has lost the will and the ability to be in charge any more. You are the one to lead Harrison Browne into the future. You’ve always said that. Well, here’s your chance. Take it. I think your future looks bright.”
Her soft, lilting voice lulled Philip into the scene and he listened, sometimes making a comment, sometimes dismissing an idea. She tried not to hurry him or argue against any of his contrary thoughts, but slowly she built the store in his mind from the ground up.
“Harrison Browne already has a reputation for good-quality fabrics and household goods. The stock losses have been a setback, but they are not insurmountable. With Mr Price to source new products for you, you would have an edge over your competitors. You could have the most up-to-date, modern store selling the latest trends – even setting the trends. You could become Brisbane’s answer to David Jones. Even Grace Brothers is growing. Look what they’ve achieved in the last three years. Those are the things you dreamed of.”
“And why would ‘Miss Brigid’s’ not fit into that scheme?” Philip might have emphasised the Miss Brigid name a bit too heavily for her liking, but at least he was discussing the options and not rejecting them entirely.
“Not that you need telling, but back then you wanted a little corner of your father’s store to prove your worth – to test whether your ideas would work. You don’t need to do that any longer.”
He needed to think bigger. Little money could be made from a few buttons, ribbons and corset boning, and lacemaking was time-consuming and needed personal service. If the form of ‘Miss Brigid’s’ was incorporated into a large, busy store, quality would be compromised. “Which would destroy your whole idea. I have enough trouble keeping up with the demand as it is, but it’s enough for the likes of me.”
After a few moments’ silence, he seemed to accept her reasoning. He asked questions about what could be done: how many staff would he need, which departments to start with and which to grow into, and where to get the stock? Brigid could feel the excitement rising within her as she pictured the store they described between them. How could Philip not want such a place? And yet he still seemed unmoved by their discussion.
She knew she was blathering on and he was just as likely to get cross with her and tell her to stop, but she had to convince him. Everything he had ever wanted was there for the taking.
“Aye, that sounds grand, it does. Auckland is smaller and not so up to date, but you can offer something no one else in Brisbane has.”
She saw no hint of any burning desire to get started or that glow of hope that came into people’s eyes the moment they thought something better had come their way. She still had no idea what he was thinking.
Brigid laid her fingers on top of his hand, her eyes bright and eager. “You could make it work. I know you could. I fell for your ideas then because selling my lace to ladies was my dream, but it’s too small to be your dream. Your dreams are out there waiting for you. Go and grab them with both hands.”