Lessons In Loving (14 page)

They stepped inside the carriage, walked the corridor. A string of closed doors lined one side. As he opened a door, she looked in on a roomy bedchamber, complete with sideboard, and an internal door which she presumed led to a private bathroom.

‘Ten sleeping cabins,' he said as he gestured. ‘Plus a dining room at the end. Is it queenly enough for you, Your Highness?'

‘Indeed it is.' She struggled to recover from her open-mouthed amazement.

‘Good. I'll have Ah Foo put your luggage in the end room—it's the biggest. And I'll be at the other end, so you won't hear my snores.'

As she watched her luggage being deposited, he waved.

‘I must see the stationmaster. Tell him to organise the necessaries for tomorrow's Sydney train. It leaves around four in the afternoon. We stay tonight at the Station Hotel.'

***

The train pulled into Sydney's Central Station mid morning on a sunny autumn day. A waiter had served an appropriately complex breakfast, from treacle porridge to lemon tea, shuttling to and fro from the dining car. By the time the train pulled in to its destination, Kate had adapted to the royal lifestyle. As she told Tom over breakfast, it was a somewhat different experience from her second-class trip to Kenilworth for her interview with the mysterious Mr Fortescue.

Their hansom cab pulled up outside an elegant house a couple of miles east of the station.

‘Welcome to Melton Lodge, Kate.' Tom opened the front gate with a key he'd magically acquired, and waved Kate towards the front door. ‘I stay here when I have business in Sydney. Unobtrusive staff, adequate space, conveniently close to transport and the city.'

‘And beautiful,' Kate breathed, taking in the mansion's ornate frontage as they stood outside the huge front door.

‘I rented the place for a month, just in case,' Tom said as he escorted her up the stairs. ‘One never knows with ladies.'

Kate didn't ask for details. As far as she understood, the English visitors might explore Sydney for a week or two, then travel to Kenilworth. What might happen then, she didn't dare imagine.

The upstairs passage led to a verandah edged with an ornamental wrought iron railing. Sweeping views of the blue waters of Sydney Harbour beckoned. For a girl who'd been raised in a grimy working class niche of the spreading city, the harbour view was a visit to the world of Sydney's upper crust. Now she would stay in this princely house for several days, albeit as a servant. But other issues invaded her mind. Laetitia, her parents, and most likely a servant or two, would take over the house from the day their ship docked.

‘Your room, Kate.' Tom opened a door at the end of a passage, and pointed to a narrow flight of stairs leading down to a basement. This must be the servants' quarters, Kate realised, though Tom had avoided the word. Clearly, he had chosen to make sure all was set in place before The Arrival. She stepped into her little room, noticing that it overlooked a tiny backyard bordered by a lane.

***

Mornings, sunny days, evenings, came and went. Life with the newly citified Tom was no different from Kenilworth, Kate discovered. They met for breakfast in a quaint little room near the kitchen. The Breakfast Room, Tom called it. Then he might catch the steam tram to the city ‘to do business with my agent'. In the evenings they dined as they did in Kenilworth, except for one night when Tom quite unexpectedly deviated from his routine.

‘The
Princess Alicia
arrives tomorrow, Kate. What would you say to dining out this evening? There's a pleasant restaurant just a short walk from here.'

‘I'm not sure,' she murmured.

Since the day they'd arrived in Sydney, Kate had watched a dull cloud of uncertainty descend over Tom. Was he looking forward to Laetitia's arrival? Was he indecisive about his feelings for the English rose? Or was he simply frightened of the way she might treat him? After all, the letter advising of their visit had been written by her father, not Laetitia. Was she making the visit because her father had decreed as much? Now, moments before she stepped off the ship, Tom was inviting his humble governess to dinner.

‘I asked you a question, Kate.'

‘I should be absolutely delighted to dine out in this salubrious neighbourhood, Tom. But do you really—'

‘Come, Miss Governess. I sense you are a little shy. Perhaps a tad nervous about Laetitia's arrival?'

‘No. Of course not. Yes, I should love to dine in a respectable restaurant. In all my years growing up in Sydney, I never once set foot in this chic neighbourhood.'

‘Very well. I shall knock on your door at six o'clock precisely. And I trust you'll be ready. Dressed in your appropriately chic outfit.'

From the moment the couple stepped inside the welcoming doors of Chez Pierre, Kate's heart pulsed with excitement. An elegantly suited maître d', murmuring greetings in a flavoursome French accent, escorted them to an upstairs table with the inevitable harbour view. Sommelier and waiter appeared on cue. As she sipped her pinot noir and sliced into a delectable morsel of duck
confit a l'orange
, Kate found herself transported to another world—a world she'd visited only in novels borrowed from her local library. And she admitted to herself that she liked this world. Loved it, rather.

Perhaps the dinner was Tom's way of saying goodbye.

In a few days, he would very likely announce his betrothal to the lovely Laetitia. Then Kate's job would be done. She pictured herself creeping back to her mother's cramped cottage, beginning the search of advertisements for teacher positions.

The dinner ended. With sweeping bows from the beaming restaurant staff, evidently in return for Tom's enormous tip, they left Chez Pierre and walked back to the rented mansion in the moonlight.

When at last they stood at the foot of the stairs, in the awkward moment they exchanged their goodnights, Kate froze—gauche, uneasy. Her employer should walk ahead of her, and she, the humble servant, should follow at a respectable distance. Clearly, the easygoing country lad from Kenilworth who baked their dinners and helped clear the dishes had headed back to those faraway hills. The new Mr Fortescue was undergoing his final grooming before a joyful reunion with his English gentlewoman sweetheart.

‘Kate.' As they stood together she saw uncertainty, mirroring her own, flicker in his eyes.

‘Yes?'

‘I … trust you enjoyed your dinner.'

‘I did indeed.'

‘It may be the last time we shall dine together for a while.'

‘Quite so.'

‘So I must thank you for your work. Your dedication. Over the past months.'

‘Every moment has been a pleasure for me, Tom.'

‘Please.' He waved a hand towards the staircase. ‘Do go on upstairs. I'll follow.'

‘Thank you.' She stepped onto the stairs. He followed at a respectable distance. When she hesitated at the top, he joined her. They looked at each other, both dumb. Then, with a flick of his wrists, he took both her hands in his. She fought her shock, stood calm, still. Would he kiss her in the next moment?

As their eyes locked, he smiled. ‘Goodnight, Kate.' Then he spun on his heel and walked towards his room. Confused, Kate headed downstairs to her little room in the servants' quarters.

***

The sound of a ship's siren pierced the morning mist. Moments later, a bow loomed through the fog, inched towards the wharf. As the ship drew closer to the waiting crowd, Kate read its name—
SS Princess Alicia
. Passengers lining the rail began to wave and shout to friends on the wharf below. The crowd knotted into an unholy tangle as people rushed up and down the wharf to be close to their waving friends on the decks above.

Kate stood beside Tom, still marvelling at the way he'd transformed into a gentleman the moment he put on his top hat. Now he scanned the ship's rail, face taut, hands clenched. Minutes passed. Evidently no Barrington-Smythes had yet graced the scene. Kate watched as Tom's jaw flexed. Then, suddenly, he flicked a cautious wave towards the row of passengers pressed against the rail.

‘Laetitia's father,' he murmured. Kate followed his eyes, saw a man, no—a gentleman—no doubt of that—in top hat and dark overcoat, clean-shaven but for a dark, waxed moustache. She watched as he returned Tom's politely subdued wave. As the ship closed on the wharf, a woman, dressed in muted elegance, slid close to the gentleman, and replicated his weary wave.

‘Where's Laetitia?' Tom's voice leaked his anguish. Then, as both Tom and Kate watched, a young woman, slender, elegant, dressed in a too-flamboyant, flowing dress of dark pink, with matching broad-brimmed hat, sidled up to the couple. Laetitia, without a doubt. Kate turned towards Tom. His face glowed as he waved like a madman. Then the young woman flicked a smile in his direction—with a limp wave—before turning to her parents, and engaging in deep conversation with them.

Sailors threw ropes to waiting wharf labourers who slipped them over bollards, watching as winches on board took up the strain. The ropes tightened, closing the last inches between hull and dockside. Tom continued his intermittent waves and smiles as the passengers melted towards the gangplanks now lowered onto the wharf.

First, an ensemble of ship's officers in shiny, well pressed uniforms descended. Then, the more stylishly dressed passengers, clearly those who had travelled first class, followed them. Squeals of joy wafted from the bottom of the gangplank.

Suddenly Tom lurched through the crowd. Kate stared at the gangplank. The Barrington-Smythes descended slowly, reminding Kate of cattle moving inch by inch down a cattle race. By now, Tom had moved yards ahead of her, pushing through the crush at the bottom of the gangplank. She watched him as first he doffed his top hat, then shook the hand of his father-in-law-to-be. Then a bow to Mrs Barrrington-Smythe, and a timid face-to-face smile with Laetitia.

Kate watched, riveted. Would they kiss, hug? For a long moment, each stood still.

‘Kindly move along please!' A disgruntled passenger voiced his dissatisfaction at being held up in the slow-moving crush. Laetitia extended a dainty hand in the direction of Tom's face. Her eyelids fluttered, fell half-closed. A smile—Kate struggled to find a word to describe it and settled for prim—pasted itself over her lips. He bent his neck, kissed the pale hand.

The family stepped off the gangplank and made their way, shepherded by Tom, to the edge of the crowd, and Kate. Tom extended an arm in Kate's direction, encouraging her into the circle of his family-to-be.

‘Sir, Madam, Miss Laetitia. May I introduce my secretary, Miss Kate Courtney?' Kate smiled at the tone of his suddenly polished accent, and allowed herself to take a little credit for that change. Polite murmurs flowed back and forth. ‘Kate has helped me organise my business, my life. Now she's part of the Kenilworth furniture.' Hiding her distaste at being compared to a battered chest of drawers, Kate returned a dutiful smile.

A slim young woman, her soft brown hair cut short
a la mode
, now joined the group. She smiled at Kate.

‘I say, Prudence,' Tom said, wafting a hand towards Kate. ‘Meet my secretary, Kate Courtney.'

‘How do you do, Kate? I'm Prudence Corbett, Laetitia's secretary.' She smiled hard at Kate. Could that smile be called conspiratorial? It was clear to Kate that the two of them shared similar roles in the gentrified establishments in which they were employed. ‘And I do hope I'm as helpful to my mistress as you are to Mr Tom.' Prudence smiled.

The Barrington-Smythes and Tom coalesced into a huddle. Kate caught Prudence's eye. The new arrival was telling her the two of them should disappear for a moment while the noble guests and their gentleman host made more comfortable connections.

‘Tom's rather handsome, isn't he?' Prudence whispered as she led Kate away from the wharf. ‘And quite rich, I understand.'

‘Yes, but he certainly doesn't flaunt it.' Kate thought of the times she'd seen Tom working round the yard in dusty clothes, perhaps dragging a resistant ram into a pen by its big curling horns, or heaving a bale of wool onto a wagon.

‘One wonders why the intendeds don't seem more affectionate,' Prudence said.

‘Indeed,' Kate agreed. ‘I feel I've just watched the opening scene of Ice Queen meets Humble Woodcutter.'

‘I'm surprised the two of them have met again,' Prudence continued. ‘I thought Laetitia had rather definitely shown him the door last time he visited.'

‘He told me that he loves her. That he'd do anything to win her.'

‘Anything?'

‘Er—perhaps more later.'

Prudence laughed. ‘He shouldn't have to try so hard. He's such an upright, good-looking fellow. The moment I first met him, during his last visit to the ancestral towers in Hampshire, I gasped.
And
he's rich.' She hesitated. ‘I think that's why Laetitia's decided to have him back. The family's suffered hard times lately, financially speaking. And whatever happens in Establishment families, they'll do anything—and I mean anything—to keep their grip on the ancestral property.'

As Prudence sighed, something clicked in Kate's brain. So, Laetitia was after Tom's money. And he was behaving like a poodle on a lead, wagging his tail whenever his mistress tugged the lead. How could an intelligent, good-looking man be so stupid?

‘It was rather depressing to watch the two of them going through all those on-again, off-again moments during Tom's last visit,' Prudence continued. ‘But then, Laetitia is rather fussy. She can afford to be. She has noble blood, she's rather beautiful, and she has what we English call “connections”.'

Back at the rented mansion, Tom escorted the guests to their rooms. And yes, Prudence and Kate found themselves in adjacent rooms, each tiny but adequate, in the servants' basement. At six Prudence sought out Kate.