Norman Tilsley took the ferry down the Swan River to Fremantle on the Tuesday, as arranged. When he got there, he studied Deagan’s Bazaar from the bottom of the slope, letting two ladies walk past him towards it, chatting animatedly. He was feeling nervous, which was unusual for him.
When he entered the long wooden building, he stopped to check what the Bazaar looked like inside and was pleased with the accuracy of his memory.
It was a very commodious building, only one storey in height, divided into the main selling area near the door, a middle area where stalls were rented out to other sellers – hence the term ‘bazaar’ he supposed, instead of ‘shop’ – and at the rear, if he remembered correctly, there was an area where second-hand but high-quality furniture, clothing and other items were sold. That part was separated from the middle area by carved wooden screens which looked oriental in design.
He saw Bram Deagan before the owner of the Bazaar saw him. A spry fellow, of medium height only, with dark hair, a bright smile and a cheerful demeanour, chatting to a customer.
Norman recognised Mrs Deagan too. She was in the silks area to the right of the main door, showing lengths of material to a young lady accompanied by an older woman who looked like her mother. The owner’s wife had glorious auburn hair, dressed simply but elegantly in a high chignon. She had a charming smile.
He saw Deagan glance towards the door, notice him and raise one eyebrow as if to ask whether he was the expected visitor, so Norman inclined his head.
With a murmured apology to the customer, Deagan made his way across the wooden floor. ‘Mr Tilsley?’
‘I am, sir. And you’re Mr Deagan. You won’t remember me, but I’ve been here before and bought a few items.’
‘I hope they gave you satisfaction.’
‘They did.’ He looked round. ‘Um … is there somewhere we can talk more privately?’
‘Why don’t we go for a stroll round the town centre? It’s a pleasant enough day, not too hot, thank goodness. February can be so trying when we get a hot spell.’
They set off and Norman wondered what to say, how to approach this delicate matter.
Deagan was the first to break the silence by saying bluntly, ‘Your advertisement said you were looking for a wife.’
‘Ahem. Yes. I’m a widower. It’s been over five years now. I don’t enjoy living on my own.’
Once started, he found it easy to explain his situation. Indeed, Deagan was easy to chat to, not overwhelming him with comments and interruptions, but asking the occasional question when he wished for more details.
Deagan stopped moving suddenly. ‘Well, well. Fate seems to be on our side. This is the lady I was wondering about.’
He stopped to greet her. ‘My dear Livia, how delightful to see you. May I introduce a new acquaintance of mine, Mr Norman Tilsley? Mr Tilsley, this is my friend Mrs Southerham.’
She inclined her head. ‘Are you new to the colony, Mr Tilsley?’
‘Yes, ma’am. I came out to join my son, only to find him living in the bush beyond Geraldton. It was too isolated for my taste, so I came back to Perth and found myself a house in Guildford.’
‘I hope you settle in quickly, then, and make friends.’ She turned back to Bram. ‘I’d like to stay and chat, but I’ve arranged to take tea with a friend and collect a book she’s promised to lend me, and I’m late already.’
‘Another time, then, Livia my dear.’
Both gentlemen raised their hats and stood to watch her hurrying along the street.
‘She loves reading,’ Bram said quietly. ‘She’s a widow of a few years. Her husband came here with consumption, hoping the warmer weather would help, but sadly, he didn’t improve.’
‘She seems very pleasant.’
‘She is. Perhaps you would visit us one Sunday at home and take tea with myself and my wife? I could arrange to invite Livia at the same time.’
‘Is she seeking another husband?’
‘Well, no … So I would only introduce you as a new acquaintance and you could see how the friendship developed.’ He waved one hand dismissively. ‘These things happen, or else they don’t, I always find. It’s no use forcing anything.’
Norman looked in the direction Mrs Southerham had taken. She wasn’t a beauty, that was certain, but she was definitely a lady. She was thin and brisk to the point of brusqueness. His wife had been plump and comfortable. He didn’t think Mrs Southerham would be as comfortable to live with, but if she was fond of reading, she couldn’t be a stupid woman.
He saw Mr Deagan looking at him, head on one side, waiting. ‘That would be very kind of you. I should like to get to know her – and you – better.’
He was thoughtful as the ferry chugged back up the river to Perth. He retrieved his horse from the livery stables there and trotted slowly home, leaving it at a small livery stable at the end of his street.
He wondered if today’s journey had been worth it. Mrs Southerham was pleasant enough, but he’d been captivated by Harriet the first time he met her. Ah, he’d been young, then, and so had she. You couldn’t expect the same reaction as you grew older. He had no doubt that he was less appealing these days to the gentler sex, though at least he hadn’t developed a paunch as some men did in their later years.
How did older people get to know one another? he wondered suddenly, feeling woefully ignorant of how to court a lady of about what … forty or so? Perhaps Mrs Southerham was older, perhaps younger. It was hard to tell a woman’s age sometimes.
But he did like Mr Deagan. What a charming man, speaking well of everyone they met, clearly well liked. If nothing else, he might get a friend out of this.
That would be something very worthwhile in the desert of his loneliness.
To the disappointment of everyone involved, rehearsals for the concert were unable to be held the next day because the weather had taken a turn for the worse and a storm was brewing fast. The decks were cleared of passengers, who were instructed to stay below in safety, and keep out of the sailors’ way.
Soon the ship was rolling to and fro, and people began to be sick.
Ma took to her bunk, grimly determined not to succumb this time, but Pa watched his wife’s face turn a greenish white and quickly fetched the slop bucket from the stand near the door.
Mal was the next to fall sick and only just made it to the bucket, after which Fergus saw to his needs.
Little Niamh was crying in a fretful, unhappy way, and refusing to suck the bottle, so Cara could only sit on the bunk and cuddle her close, rocking her slightly. Her milk had dried up entirely now. Thank goodness for Mellin’s Food!
Sean sat opposite her on the lower of the boys’ bunks. He wasn’t scowling now, but had his arms wrapped round himself. She guessed he was trying hard not to be sick.
Fergus, who was cuddling Mal on the top bunk, glanced a couple of times in Sean’s direction, jerking his head and nodding encouragement to her to help him. She blinked her eyes to show her understanding.
When she saw Sean pressing one hand to his mouth and heaving, she set Niamh down for a minute and passed him the unused chamber pot.
After the boy had finished being sick, she thrust the baby into his arms. ‘Hold your sister while I go and empty this. The smell of vomit will make us all feel worse.’ She hesitated, looking at him. ‘Or do you think you’ll need it again soon?’
He shook his head and stared down at the white-faced, wailing baby. ‘Is she seasick too?’
‘I think so.’
‘Why aren’t you and Da seasick?’
‘I don’t know. I feel a bit uncomfortable today, I must admit, but I’m rarely sick. I’m just lucky, I suppose.’ She took the pot and vanished along the corridor to the heads, glad to find one free, so she could empty the mess into it and rinse it out with sea water.
When she returned to the cabin, she checked Sean, glad to see that he had a bit more colour in his cheeks. He was cuddling Niamh and the baby was dozing, so she didn’t disturb them, putting one finger to her lips and pointing to his little sister. To her relief, he realised she wanted to let Niamh sleep and nodded, keeping hold of the baby.
Cara handed the emptied chamber pot to Ma, who was still retching from time to time, and went to empty the slop bucket.
Afterwards she sat down on her bunk, not offering to take the baby back from her stepson.
Sean was studying Niamh, unaware that he in his turn was being studied. The baby was cuddled against him, dozing fitfully, her dark lashes lying against her soft cheeks. He didn’t look at Cara as he asked, ‘How does something so small grow up into a person? She weighs so little!’
‘It’s like a miracle, isn’t it? One day she’ll be waist high, tagging along behind you pestering to play with you. And you’ll probably say no.’
‘Is that what you did? Do you have an older brother?’
‘Yes.’ Only Edward had never wanted to play with his sisters. Once he grew up and started work, he’d become as disapproving of her as her father, especially when she turned down a suitor who was a friend of his.
Her brother hadn’t offered to help her in any way when she was in trouble, and had actually turned aside if she passed him in the corridor at home, with a sour expression on his face.
She saw that Sean was waiting for further information. ‘My brother and I weren’t close. He was so sure he was better than two mere girls. That made me feel angry. I miss my younger sister very much, though.’
‘What’s her name?’
‘Madeleine, but I called her Leinie.’ Only when their father wasn’t within hearing, because he didn’t approve of shortening people’s given names.
‘That’s a pretty name. I’ve never met anyone called Madeleine. How old is she?’
‘Eighteen.’ What was Leinie doing now? Her mother had kept the two of them apart after it happened, but Cara knew Leinie still loved her and was very upset about everything because she’d shouted that out through the window when her father was dragging her out to the gate, ignoring her pleas and tears.
‘Thank you.’
She realised Sean had spoken to her. ‘Sorry. I didn’t catch what you said.’
‘I said thank you.’ He spoke stiffly as if it was hard to say the words.
‘What for?’
‘Emptying that horrible mess. I tried not to be sick in here, but it happened quickly and I didn’t dare try to run to the heads.’
‘You couldn’t help it. People can’t choose whether they get seasick or not. I was happy to help.’
Fergus spoke gently from above his son. ‘Mal and Ma are still not feeling well. Perhaps you two boys are more like your mother’s side than mine.’
‘I’m not feeling sick,’ Pa said. ‘They don’t take after me.’
Cara had forgotten he was there. He often did that, sat quietly on the edge of a group, seeming to enjoy listening to them more than speaking himself.
Sean held the baby out to her, so she took Niamh back into her arms without commenting on how long he’d been holding his little sister. Even if they always resented their stepmother, Cara wanted the children to be close to one another.
The passengers were locked down all day, and the evening meal was only sandwiches and apples, but the stewardess didn’t forget to bring the Deagans some hot water to make up Niamh’s bottle of baby food, thank goodness.
Cara asked Sean to hold Niamh again for a minute or two while she made up the food, and to her relief he did, showing an interest in what the food was like, so she gave him a taste on the end of her finger.
When she wasn’t looking, he ran one fingertip down the infant’s soft cheek.
Afterwards, Pa volunteered to hold Niamh while Cara went to the heads. She stood in the doorway, looking round the cabin, when she returned. Mal was still lying limply on his bunk, with his father perched on the end, but in the lower bunk, Sean was fidgeting and sighing, well enough now to be bored.
She took the baby back from Pa. ‘Let’s play some guessing games to pass the time.’
Fergus swung down from Mal’s bunk and came to sit next to her. ‘Such as?’
‘I spy. Do you know it?’
He shook his head. ‘I was always too busy to play games. Even as a child, I was working from the minute I understood enough to scare birds off the plants in the kitchen garden at the big house.’
‘I don’t know the game either,’ Pa said.
Cara explained that you chose something in the room and said the first letter, then people had to guess what the object was. ‘I’ll go first. I spy with my little eye something beginning with B.’ She sounded out the letter rather than calling it ‘bee’, because some of them couldn’t read.
She watched Sean mouthing the sound, relieved that he was joining in.
‘Baby?’ Fergus looked at his daughter.
‘No.’
‘Bucket?’ Pa offered.
‘No.’
‘Blanket?’ Sean looked astonished when she nodded.
‘Clever boy! Your turn now. Choose something and give us the sound of the first letter.’
The game lasted about twenty minutes, by which time it was getting dark quickly. Mal and Ma had fallen asleep, and Sean was finding it hard to think of new words. Indeed, he didn’t seem very good with words and spelling, which had surprised her because he wasn’t a stupid boy.
‘We’d better stop playing now,’ she said.
But within a few minutes, Sean was complaining. ‘It isn’t much fun, being shut up in the cabin.’
‘No, it isn’t,’ Cara agreed. ‘Next time we’ll ask for a lamp and I’ll read to you, or you can read to us, if you like. Mrs Julia helped me choose some children’s books to entertain you on the journey, remember?’
That brought a scowl to the boy’s face again. ‘I don’t like reading.’
‘That’s because you haven’t learned properly,’ Fergus said. ‘I thought we agreed that your mother would practise reading with you. Didn’t she do that?’
‘Yes, she did, but she didn’t know all the words, either. It’s no fun when you don’t understand half the words. The story doesn’t make sense.’
‘Why didn’t you tell me?’ Fergus looked angry.
Cara smiled across at Sean. ‘If you don’t want me to help you, I’m sure your father will do it. It’s only a matter of practice.’
‘It’s a bit like catching a ball,’ Fergus put in. ‘Remember how you couldn’t catch anything at first, and gradually got better? Mal still isn’t very good at catching balls, but if we play with him, he’ll improve.’
‘All right.’ Sean snuggled down on the bottom bunk with an artificially loud sigh. His eyes flickered then closed, opened and closed again, as he lost the battle against sleep.
Fergus continued to sit next to Cara and the baby, not chatting but staying near her, as if for companionship.
It felt good.
After a while, he touched her cheek gently with his fingertips and said in a voice so quiet only she could hear it, ‘It’s working well, isn’t it, our marriage? I hope you’re as pleased about that as I am.’
She nodded, not daring to speak in case she sobbed. Even that slight compliment had overwhelmed her, it was so unusual for anyone to praise her. For so many months she’d felt humiliated and utterly alone.
She’d worried in case she’d done something to cause that man to attack her, as her father said her attacker had claimed. Only she couldn’t think what she had done, or why he had gone on and on hurting her, when she sobbed and fought and begged him to stop.
She hadn’t dared scream and draw attention to her undressed state, because he’d threatened that if she did, he’d claim she’d thrown herself at him. She’d wished afterwards that she had screamed. She hadn’t even known what the consequences might be.
At least Fergus believed her. Was she being a fool about him? Was she hoping for too much from this marriage? She hoped not. Oh, she did hope not!
By the time the storm was over, it was too late to manage enough rehearsals to get a decent concert together on the day originally planned, the two organisers decided. Fergus suggested Rémi ask Matron and the chief steward to postpone it. ‘They’ll take it better from you.’
So Rémi explained the problem to the chief steward and Matron.
‘That would be fine, as long as you can put on the concert before we reach Port Said and enter the canal,’ she said, turning to the steward. ‘We never do concerts there, with other ships around. ’
‘You’ve coped well with the stormy weather, Mr Newland.’
Rémi nodded. He had felt faintly queasy at times, but that was all. He’d felt sorry for some of the other passengers, though.
When he went back to his cabin, he found that Barrett had been vilely ill, and hadn’t even got out of bed to use the bucket.
He felt like shaking the fool and shouting at him, but it’d do no good. Instead, he said coldly, ‘Kindly use the bucket next time.’
‘The steward will clean it up.’
‘Even so, the cabin will smell bad for days.’
‘I can’t help being sick.’
‘You’d be better if you didn’t drink as heavily.’
Barrett opened his mouth to reply, then started heaving again.
Rémi thrust the bucket at him and made sure he didn’t make a worse mess of the cabin.
When the steward arrived, looking harassed, Rémi waited for Barrett to apologise for the mess, but he didn’t. So Rémi said, ‘I’m sorry you have to deal with this. I’ll try to make sure he reaches the bucket in future.’
‘Thank you, sir. I’ll bring an extra bucket and fasten it near his bed.’ He gave the culprit a dirty look.
Barrett lay groaning, then lifted his head. ‘I did try to reach the bucket.’
Rémi supposed it was as near an apology as he’d get. ‘Ask for help if you need it. I’m fortunate in not getting seasick.’
After they’d re-coaled at Malta, they sailed straight for Port Said. The weather had started improving as soon as they entered the Mediterranean and soon, everyone stopped being seasick. People began to sit on deck again and chat, or engage in the various activities.
As everyone in the concert worked on the songs and recitations, Rémi was surprised at how good a music master Fergus was proving. He seemed to know instinctively the best way to improve on the delivery of a song or piano piece.
‘How do you do it?’ he asked one afternoon.
‘What?’
‘Find ways to improve things.’
Fergus shrugged. ‘It seems obvious.’
‘You must have done this sort of thing before, though.’
‘Not really. I did sing with a small group when I could, but I didn’t have time to run proper concerts. I was too busy earning a living … and looking after Eileen. Have you ever been married?’
It was Rémi’s turn to shrug. ‘No. I’ve never had the money.’ He heard his voice grow sharper as he explained a little more about his background.
‘Oh, excuse me. I need to have a word with that man about his singing,’ Fergus said.
Rémi watched him go and talk to a man from steerage, then went back to staring at the water, an activity they all indulged in frequently. He was getting rather worried about Barrett, who still hadn’t emerged from their cabin.
But when he turned, he saw Barrett standing at the edge of the deck, looking white and ill. He didn’t even try to go over to greet him, would far rather spend his time helping Fergus.
Barret was a poor sort, and spiteful with it, from the way he talked about other people. He wished they weren’t sharing a cabin.