‘God works in mysterious ways.’
‘He certainly does. Mr John said he couldn’t fathom God, taking the innocent when there were so many villains and rogues like him around. When I told him that God might have kept him alive on purpose, so he could rescue me and redeem himself, he told me not to flatter myself. He said it was dark, he was as pi . . . ckled as a python and he’d tripped over me.’
‘Miss Maitland!’
She’d never heard a man sounding so shocked, and she grinned. ‘Mr John said if it had been daylight and he’d been sober and in his right mind, he’d have run so fast in the other direction that I wouldn’t have seen either him or Hercules for dust.’
‘Hercules?’ Grimble said faintly.
‘His horse. We used to sing him hymns.’
‘That sounds like John Kern,’ he said, a smile appearing on his face, then quite gently, ‘Miss Maitland, I should perhaps caution you against using vulgar expressions, even when quoting others. John Kern had a rather colourful turn of phrase at times, which though it might sit well on a gentleman, does not add credit to a lady. We wouldn’t want to give Miss Lawrence the wrong impression.’
‘Sorry, Mr Grimble. From now on I won’t speak a word out of place,’ which would be a sacrifice on her part, since everything was so new and interesting to her.
The cab they were in came to a halt outside a terraced house overlooking the bay. Her heart began to pound. Being raised on the Australian gold diggings had not prepared her for what she was finding in the outside world. She was ill-equipped in every way to move in the circles Mr John expected of her.
She gave a quiet little groan.
‘Is everything all right, Miss Maitland? Are you in pain?’
Nothing was all right. She was terrified. She wanted to find a hole, climb inside it and hide away from the world for ever.
She heard John’s voice as clear as if he was sitting next to her. ‘Where has your courage gone, Sarry girl?’
Where
had
it gone, her brash conviction that everything John had told her would come to pass as long as she behaved herself? She had no courage without him to lean on, had nobody to guide her without him. She must fall back on her own resources. But it was only for a year, she thought. He’d promised he’d be here for her then.
‘Miss Maitland?’
She smiled. ‘I was having a moment of doubt. Mr Grimble.’
He gently patted her hand. ‘John Kern had no doubts, and neither do I.’
‘Is this the school?’
‘It’s not actually a school. It’s a day academy for young ladies. But you’ll reside here for the duration of your stay and act as a companion to Mrs Lawrence.’
While Mr Grimble was summoned into the presence of Mrs Lawrence herself, Sarette was taken upstairs to a pleasant room overlooking the bay, there to make herself presentable. Her trunks came shortly after. The cab driver and a man of all work staggered upstairs with the one belonging to John, carrying it between them.
She instructed them to set her smaller trunk on top of John’s. Opening her own trunk she smiled at the photograph of herself with John, then stood it in pride of place. Inspecting her wardrobe, she sighed, then took out the blue dress that had belonged to her mother. It was faded now and the hem was stained where the woman who’d stolen it had allowed it to drag in the dirt. She shook as many of the creases from it as she could before she pulled it on. Brushing out the length of her hair she braided it.
She crossed to the window when she heard a vehicle draw up outside. A man got down from the small carriage. Mr Grimble’s son perhaps, for he bore a passing resemblance of bearing, though he was certainly taller, and more handsome.
He came to the door below her, and knocked, and not long afterwards she heard the rumble of voices.
After a while the maid came for her and she was summoned to the drawing room. ‘Mr Grimble said you’re to bring down the papers you have for him.’ The maid was more smartly dressed than she was, Sarette thought in despair as she followed her downstairs.
Mr Grimble himself was readying himself to depart.
‘Mrs Lawrence, this is Sarette Maitland. I’ll leave her in your capable hands. Miss Maitland, this is my third son, Gerald Grimble.’
He murmured a greeting. His eyes were bluer than his father’s, and his lips twitched slightly, something that she took to be a smile. There was a quiet awareness about him that made her feel nervous, and she was annoyingly aware of his scornful gaze condemning her dress as she turned to Mrs Lawrence, so she reddened with embarrassment.
Mrs Lawrence was about fifty, elegant in grey silk, pink roses and lace. Her cool grey eyes swept over Sarette. But if the woman found her lacking – which she must, Sarette thought in despair, she didn’t make comment.
Awed by her, Sarette curtsied. ‘I’m pleased to make your acquaintance, Mrs Lawrence.’
‘Thank you, my dear. And I you. I’m looking forward to getting to know you better.’ Her voice was low and cultured.
Sarette remembered to thank Mr Grimble for escorting her from Southampton, and handed over John’s letter. It was thick, consisting of several pages folded lengthways into three and sealed with wax. The lawyer examined the seals, then nodded. ‘Thank you my dear.’ He gave a little bow. ‘We’ll see ourselves out. Mrs Lawrence. Miss Maitland, good-day to you both.’
‘Mrs Lawrence.’ Gerald Grimble kissed the woman’s hand, then turned to her. ‘Miss Maitland.’ He grinned when she hastily put her hands behind her back, and gave a small bow. ‘Welcome to England.’
After the men had gone Sarette handed the smaller letter to Mrs Lawrence. The maid brought them in some tea and thin slices of cake. Sarette could have eaten a loaf of bread with a pound of cheese inside it.
‘While I’m reading my letter you may pour the tea, my dear.’
Sarette’s hand trembled as she lifted the delicate china teapot, but she slopped only a little into the saucer. She tipped it back into the cup so it wouldn’t be wasted, and handed it to the woman.
‘Sarette, dear, returning spilled tea to the cup just won’t do.’
‘But water is precious. We can’t throw it away. In the goldfields it cost us quite a lot of money to buy water from the carter and we had to reuse it.’
‘You’re no longer in the goldfields, Sarette. You’ve left that part of your life behind and are now in England, where we do things a little differently.’ Her smile robbed her words of any intent to wound. ‘John Kern has commanded me to turn you into a lady. He said you’re clever and obliging, and quick to learn, and my husband and I knew him well enough for me to believe him.’
Sarette glowed with pleasure at the praise. ‘Is your husband an adventurer too?’
‘No, Sarette, he is not. My husband is deceased, but he was a physician.’
‘Mr Grimble told me and I’d forgotten. I’m sorry.’
Mrs Lawrence handed the cup back to her. ‘Now, you may have this one back. Perhaps you could try again, using the clean cup. This time, try not to spill it. Thank you,’ she said when Sarette managed to carry out the action a second time with more success.
Mrs Lawrence placed a slice of cake on a plate and handed it over with a napkin. ‘You might like to place it on your lap, to protect your skirt.’
Sarette gave a nervous giggle as she pointed out, ‘The dress used to belong to my mother. It’s my second best one, even though it’s dirty. The best one needs washing, and the third best one is almost rags.’
‘Nevertheless, as it’s your second best gown, until we purchase another you will not wish to soil it further. In fact, if you’d taken care of it in the first place it wouldn’t have got into such a disgusting state. It’s stained beyond redemption.’
Obviously Iris Lawrence had never scratched in the dirt for a living, and although Sarette wanted to point it out to this superior lady that she was being unfair, she managed to restrain herself.
The cake was sweet and delicious. She ate it in two bites, then picked up the crumbs with the end of her forefinger and licked it clean. She sighed. ‘I’ve never eaten cake before.’
‘You may have another piece, this time leave the crumbs on the plate. When you’ve eaten it and have finished your tea we’ll have a chat. I want to know all about you and your family, and as far back as you know.’
By the time Sarette went up to bed that night, with Mrs Lawrence’s prompting, she’d remembered lots of things about her own family background. She’d also learned many things from Mrs Lawrence just by watching her, that the round spoon was to be used for soup, that the liquid was scooped away from the body, and that the bread was broken with the fingers before eating and her knife and fork placed neatly together when she’d finished her meal.
It was a nice night, cool, but slightly humid. She seated herself by the window in a chair covered in pink brocade and gazed out over the bay while she brushed out the length of her hair. The sea shushed gently against the shore and a half moon burnished the water with silver gleams. It was a gentle bay, not like the ocean she’d crossed with its fluid glass peaks, sudden dips and living, curling waves that crashed and slapped against the ship, tossing it about in a ferment of foam.
She smiled as she remembered the rotund Captain Jolly, so calm and unflappable, his feet solid on the deck as if he’d been nailed into position and his voice bellowing commands above the din of the weather.
She unbuttoned the top of her flannel nightgown, exposing her throat to the kiss of night air. Mr John had bought the garment for her to wear on the ship, and like everything Sarette owned, it needed washing.
‘Just in case you’re shipwrecked in the night and have to be rescued,’ he’d said.
He seemed too far away from her now. Her heart ached for him and she whispered, ‘I’m here, Mr John, my dearest friend. Mrs Lawrence has been good to me, and I like your Mr Grimble, but I miss you so much. A year seems such a long time now. Look after yourself. I know you don’t always believe in such things, and you’ve convinced me not to either, but I’ll pray for you every night anyway, just in case.’
There was a soft knock. The door creaked open and Mrs Lawrence came in, carrying a candle. ‘I heard voices. Are you all right, dear?’ she said.
‘I expect you’ll think I’m foolish, but I was talking to Mr John.’
‘No, I don’t think you’re foolish. Sometimes when I feel lonely I talk to my husband.’ She picked up the photograph. ‘Is this you with John?’
‘Yes. I was fourteen then, and it was taken nearly three years ago, not long after he rescued me.’
‘You look younger than fourteen, and have grown into a beautiful young woman in that time. John looks much older than when we last met. I wouldn’t have recognized him with that beard.’
He shaved if off just before I left, so I could see what he looked like without it. And he looked handsome, but odd, because the top of his face was tanned by the sun and the bottom was still pale.’
‘What’s this little hut you’re standing in front of, a native dwelling?’
‘No, it was our home.’
She gasped. ‘You lived in such poor conditions.’
‘Most people did. The town was just beginning to grow, with proper buildings, and a railway station. Miners come and go all the time, and don’t want permanent houses. If they can’t find gold they move on, as Mr John decided we would.’
‘And I had the temerity to comment on the state of your dress. I’m so sorry.’
‘There’s no need to be sorry, since you couldn’t have known. It was Mr John’s home really, but he built me a room on the side with a hessian flap, so I could be private if I wanted to. It was kind of him.’
‘I recall he was always a kind man, though tough if he had to be. I always thought it a pity that he didn’t marry again.’
‘He was still grieving for his lost wife and daughter when I left him. I offered to marry him so he would never feel lonely.’
Mrs Lawrence appeared shocked. ‘John Kern is much too old for you.’
‘But he needs to feel he has someone to look after. I think I gave him a reason for living. He drank to excess when we met, you see. He began to drink less after he took me in, though sometimes his stomach pained him and the spirits relieved the pain.’
‘But he would have known that you offered to be his wife out of pity.’
‘I didn’t pity him. I respected him and was grateful to him. I owed him my life, and wanted him to be happy.’
‘What a queer little creature you are.’ Mrs Lawrence took the brush from her hand and began to pull it gently through her hair. ‘How did John react when you proposed marriage to him?’
‘He said he’d be home in a year and promised he would see how we felt about such an arrangement then.’
‘Do you expect him to honour his promise?’
Sarette heaved a sigh. In her heart of hearts she suspected he might not. Her own thinking was maturing now and she was beginning to believe that John Kern had been sweetening the pill of parting for her. She’d swallowed his lie because she didn’t want to face up to the fact that he wasn’t the hero she’d always thought, but a flawed, troubled, and lonely old man. ‘I think he was telling me what he thought I wanted to hear, but I believe he will honour his promise and return to England.’
‘And if he doesn’t come?’
‘I promised I’d stay a year and try to improve myself, and that I’ll do. I believe those instructions are in the letters I carried for yourself and Mr Grimble. After that year . . . I have made no plans.’
Iris Lawrence took the letter from her pocket and handed it to Sarette. ‘I can’t speak for Mr Grimble, but you may read the one he sent to me if you wish to know what those instructions were.’
Dearest Iris,
May I introduce my dearly beloved little friend, Miss Sarette Maitland. Sarry has absorbed all the education I’ve been able to give her. I cannot, however, empower her with feminine ways. She has managed to get through my armour and find a soft spot in my heart. She is young for her age and has such a need to be loved. I think I will never forgive her for making me feel joy again when I was happily wallowing in my self-pity. Thus, I’m a sorry excuse for a man, and because I cannot be what she wants then I must send her away before I break her heart, or before she breaks what’s left of mine. I can only think of two true and constant friends who will act on my behalf with the discretion and delicacy this matter needs, especially where Magnus is concerned. Ignatious Grimble will pay all her expenses, and there will be no need to economise.