Dorothy Eden (6 page)

‘If I accept your offer, Mr Massingham, you must know what I was transported for.’

‘Naturally. Although I can’t believe it to be a serious crime.’

‘It wasn’t one at all!’ Molly Jarvis said with sudden violence. ‘It was a made-up story. I was a lady’s maid, and my lady’s husband wanted me. He even offered to set me up in my own place. When I refused, he turned nasty, and trumped up this story about me stealing his wife’s diamond brooch. It was found in my box, where I kept my little bits of treasure. No one believed I hadn’t stolen it. Why should they? I was only a servant. So I had to stand trial and was sentenced to transportation for five years. After we got to Botany Bay I was sentenced to another three years for attacking an officer. I kicked his shins and gave him a black eye. I was only defending myself.’ Her mouth twisted. ‘Poor Harry was the only bit of good I found in eight years.’

‘Eight years? You must have been a child when you were sentenced.’

‘I’m twenty-six now, sir, and if you’re really offering me a position you’ll have to hear the rest. I’m going to have a baby.’

That was something unexpected. Unwelcome.

‘When?’

‘In six months or thereabouts.’

Gilbert looked down at the pale intense face. It bore marks of strain and weariness now, but he found himself wondering how it would look if Molly Jarvis were laughing. If she ever laughed. And he couldn’t believe that she didn’t because of the way her mouth tilted upwards.

All the same, it was a devilish nuisance that she was pregnant. He hardly knew how Eugenia would take that. He must explain that good servants were extremely hard to come by and Mrs Jarvis looked a pearl.

He didn’t doubt for a moment that she had told him the truth about herself. She would hardly lie, with those dead ears in the next room listening. He almost believed himself that the unfortunate Harry Jarvis was listening to his entirely genuine proposal to make his poor widow’s life easier and happier. She could do the cooking, and have a room to herself, and manage the other servants. It would be a load off Eugenia’s shoulders.

‘I expect the child can be accommodated,’ he said. ‘Yarrabee is big enough. I have a small vineyard. But I intend it to be a bigger one before I’m much older. One day it will be famous.’

He must have looked optimistic and confident, for suddenly, at last, Molly Jarvis smiled. Her lips curved back over strong white teeth and her eyes softened to warm velvet.

A tingle went down Gilbert’s spine. He thought of Eugenia in her immaculate morning toilette, waiting for him, and said hastily,

‘I must be off. Tomorrow, or the next day, will you present yourself at Mr Edmund Kelly’s in King Street. My fiancée will want to interview you. I will have told her the whole story, so there’s no need to be nervous.’

Nervous ? Not this woman with her warm straight gaze.

Vin ordinaire,
Gilbert was thinking.

If Eugenia was champagne, this woman was the satisfying robust wine to be drunk with bread and cheese.

What a fancy! And he wasn’t really sure what he had done, what he had got himself involved in. He was only certain of one thing, that Molly Jarvis would be an asset to Yarrabee.

A
LREADY THEY HAD HAD
a disagreement. It was about the woman, Molly Jarvis. Eugenia had no objection to Mrs Jarvis as a woman. It was her history, and the circumstances under which Gilbert had made her acquaintance, that gave Eugenia a feeling of distaste which she could not overcome.

Imagine, at Lichfield Court, engaging a woman who had been not only in Newgate prison but a passenger on one of those terrible convict ships. Eugenia reiterated that she was perfectly prepared to believe Mrs Jarvis’s story of her innocence. But nothing would take away the fact that the poor woman’s character must have been affected by living for so long in conditions of such depravity. What was more, she was to have posthumous child fathered by a convict. Well, an ex-convict, then, though she failed to see the difference. Besides, what about Jane King, with whose services Mrs Ashburton had proved perfectly happy to dispense? She cried too much from homesickness and forgot her duties. Eugenia was more than welcome to her.

And now here was Gilbert saying generously, but with a lack of sympathy that annoyed her, ‘By all means have the King girl if you can put up with her sniffles. I daresay she will make herself useful though you had better prepare her for the fact that Yarrabee is isolated and lonely. A woman like Mrs Jarvis won’t mind that. These are important things to take into consideration when you engage servants in this country.’

‘You didn’t tell me these things yesterday.’

‘No, my love. I apologize. I should have done so.’

Gilbert’s face was the same as it had been yesterday, but now she couldn’t look at it without thinking of those dark horrifying doings of the previous night, and wondering why no shadow showed. If anything, his blue eyes were brighter, as if stimulated by the excitement. She had thought the stars so peaceful when she had looked at them before falling asleep, and when she had awoken to the brilliantly sunny morning she had experienced a surge of happiness and excitement.

But now the heat of mid-afternoon was beating on the roof. Mrs Kelly had drawn the blinds to shut out the glare. The resulting dimness, instead of being cool, was airless. A constant harsh uproar from the cicadas in the garden was exacerbating to the nerves. Eugenia had to mop her damp brow. The scrap of lace handkerchief crumpled in her palm was damp and inadequate.

And Gilbert, with that implacable look on his face, was disturbing. He had told her once that he always meant to get what he wanted. Now, for some reason, no doubt a perfectly sensible and valid one, he wanted a convict woman in his house.

She had to admit to herself that had she heard about Mrs Jarvis in other circumstances she, too, would have had sympathy for the woman’s misfortune.

The story of the amorous employer was entirely believable. One often enough heard such stories. In the past Eugenia and her sisters had always sympathized strongly with the unfortunate maidservants.

So why now was she being so unreasonable? It surely couldn’t be that she was jealous of Gilbert’s sudden enthusiasm for this unfortunate woman!

‘But there’s to be a baby!’ she protested.

‘Do you not care for children?’

That was not the point. Eugenia looked at Gilbert indignantly.

‘Of course I like children. But there are certain circumstances where they are not so welcome.’

‘Mrs Jarvis’s was conceived in wedlock. Even if it hadn’t been, there are conditions in this country that make an illegitimate child forgivable. This is not England. Or I should say it isn’t the England you know.’

Eugenia’s eyes flashed.

‘You don’t need to remind me that I am fortunate in my birth and upbringing.’

‘But perhaps I do need to remind you of exactly that. So that you will have more sympathy for others less fortunate. Now let’s have done with the matter.’

Eugenia’s voice grew as chilly as Gilbert’s.

‘If the matter has already been decided, why do you ask me to interview this woman?’

‘Because I had hoped I would find you completely in accord with my own feelings. I had hoped to see pity in your eyes.’

‘You think I am heartless!’

‘Not in the least. But if you could take up the cudgels for plain Jane, why not for someone in far greater need?’

‘I suppose because she is your protégée, not mine,’ Eugenia retorted, and then wished she had not said such an irrational, impulsive thing. For Gilbert’s annoyance had vanished in a flash and his eyes were twinkling with good humour.

‘My darling, I love your honesty. Were you afraid I wasn’t going to let you run your own house ? Of course I am. You are in complete charge. I have only asked you to interview this woman. If you dislike her, no more will be said, I promise. Now we are to dine with my old friend William Wentworth at Vaucluse this evening, so I want you to take that frown off your face and look your prettiest. Talk to Mrs Wentworth and the other ladies about their experiences with servants. You’ll find that by standards here Molly Jarvis is a pearl.’

As it happened, the women at dinner that night were less interested in servants than in fashions. Every item of Eugenia’s toilette was discussed. Were her leg-o’-mutton sleeves the latest thing in London? What were the new season’s bonnets like? Had those chilly muslins with the high bustline ever come back? They had been downright shocking with their transparent appearance. One of the ladies remembered an aunt, her mother’s younger sister, coming down to dinner in one such gown, it had been so pretty, too, with rosebuds sprinkled on the gauzy material. But her shape beneath had been all too visible, and the curate, who was visiting, had abruptly left the room and never returned.

If it hadn’t been for the close heat, and the everlasting sound of cicadas in the warm dark night, Eugenia could have imagined she was at a party in England. There had been a four-poster bed with chintz hangings in the bedroom where the ladies had left their wraps. The winding staircase and hall were hung with large oil paintings, the drawing-room was completely English in style, with striped wallpaper, gilt-framed mirrors, heavy comfortable furniture. Everything was much more grand than she had thought it could be. The dining-table was laid with silver and crystal and a beautiful porcelain dinner service.

It was reassuring. Life could be civilized here, after all. She was glad now that her grandmother had persuaded her to take with her the elaborate French bed and other bric-a-brac that had seemed to her unsuitable and foolish. She would make the house Gilbert had built as beautiful as this one. They would have parties, too, pretending for a little while that the wilderness outside did not exist. The thought made her look towards Gilbert and catch his eye. When he responded to her small secret smile, her heart fluttered a little. She recognized a lover’s glance. She believed she was in love, after all.

Mr Wentworth, of whose tempestuous career she had heard little, except that he was a controversial person in Sydney and not welcomed everywhere, was gallant towards her. He was handsome, with his high aristocratic forehead, and thick glossy hair brushed smoothly back and curling on his neck. But he was autocratic and opinionated. When the subject turned to Gilbert’s wine, Mr Wentworth said that he believed Gilbert was making a mistake putting all his eggs in one basket. ‘You’ve heard what the Governor said in his speech in the House yesterday—that our wool is our wealth, that colonists must have sheep if they want to continue to be wealthy.’

‘I never have been wealthy,’ Gilbert said mildly.

‘No, and you may never be if you don’t run sheep. You have plenty of land. Wasn’t your grant a thousand acres? You can’t plant all that in vines?’

‘True. I have a herd of cattle, and a few sheep for killing for mutton, but otherwise,’ he said stubbornly, ‘I intend to put all my energies into my vineyard. It is the only way to succeed, to have a single aim.’

‘Well, I wish you luck,’ Wentworth said drily. He signalled to a servant to open another bottle of the Yarrabee wine which Gilbert had presented to him, and said to the table at large, ‘We must drink all we can to maintain our friend’s prosperity.’

After dinner Mr Wentworth wanted to show Eugenia his treasures. He had bought Vaucluse at a public auction, and although the legal title was still in doubt and the subject of litigation in the Court of Claims, he had gone ahead making additions and improvements. He intended the house to be one of the best in the colony.

‘But I understand, Miss Lichfield, that you will be living in a very fine one at Parramatta?’

‘Yes, I haven’t seen it yet. Mr Massingham has only described it to me.’

‘Then allow me to say that it could not be too fine for its new mistress.’

Eugenia lowered her eyes. The man’s admiration was a little blatant. Bess Kelly had told her that he was an illegitimate son. His father had been a fine young scoundrel, who, after a forced arrival in Botany Bay, had acquired a fortune very quickly. This had enabled him to have his son educated in England. But William Wentworth himself was one of that new race, a man who had actually been born in the colony, and who had its interests at heart. He would make his mark. He was a man to know, Gilbert had said. For it was at tables such as his that Australians would acquire the civilized habit of wine drinking.

Nevertheless, the good taste of Vaucluse had reassured Eugenia, and she was happy that Gilbert was pleased with her tonight. She was learning quickly. The quality that would be of most importance in this country was tolerance. Accordingly she set herself to be charming to her host, admiring his furniture purchased in Venice and Berlin, the grand oil paintings and Italian marble fireplaces, the French clocks, and costly porcelain. She almost forgot the unhappy subject of convicts and poverty.

Someone asked her if she sang or played the piano. When she assented, everyone begged for a song. It really was like a pleasant social evening at Lichfield Court. She could almost have believed Sarah sat in the shadows listening to her, waiting to applaud. Eugenia had a pleasant light tuneful voice, and even without Sarah, there was plenty of applause. Eugenia heard Gilbert saying, ‘Yes, she sings very well,’ and when Mrs Wentworth asked him if it were her voice he had fallen in love with, he answered, ‘It is a distinct asset, don’t you agree?’

She touched his arm with her fan a little later, when he was standing a moment alone.

‘Do you give me marks for my assets?’ she asked playfully. ‘So many for my singing voice, so many for my ability to dance or to paint or sew, so many for my taste in dress? And later, of course, when I am more knowledgeable, so many for my ability to recognize a good wine?’

Her voice was light and teasing. She really was enjoying the evening immensely, and at this moment it didn’t matter that Gilbert might have totted up marks in his mind. So long as she came near the maximum for a desirable wife, she was content. Wasn’t this how the most successful marriages were made ? Even if that warm spontaneous flash she had caught in Gilbert’s eyes across the dinner-table had meant more to her than a cool tally of her worth.