Beyond the Sunset (3 page)

Later that day a man called Conn Largan turned up at the Migrants’ Home, offering jobs to the twins, caring for his invalid mother. They lived an hour’s drive away from the Southerhams, which was quite close, it seemed, in Australian terms.

In the end Pandora confronted Cassandra. ‘Working for the Southerhams is the only way we can all four stay together. You
have
to accept the job, whether Reece works there or not.’

And at last, because there truly was no other way to keep the family together, Cassandra gave in.

Pandora felt for her, they all did, but it was a relief to have their immediate future settled and to get away from the restrictions of the Migrants’ Home.

The week following the interview with Mr Featherworth passed in a blur of activity for Zachary. The tailor finished his new clothes with amazing speed, finer garments than he’d ever worn in his whole life.

He was also supplied with an incredible number of other clothes. There were a dozen beautiful shirts, some in lightweight materials like gauze cotton, because the weather was much hotter in Australia. Each one had three matching collars and there was a whole box of studs for attaching them to the shirts. There were also a dozen travelling shirts of flannel, a dozen cravats of various colours, several sets of braces, cotton drawers at half a crown a pair, under-vests at four shillings and sixpence each, and nightshirts at ten shillings each.

He was speechless at how much this must add up to and tried to protest to the clerk that he could manage with less.

‘Mr Featherworth has taken advice from those who’ve travelled overseas and this is the minimum number of garments you’ll need on such a long voyage, young man.’ Mr Dawson patted his shoulder. ‘There are those who take twice as many clothes with them.’

Zachary could only shake his head in wonderment. He didn’t tell anyone, but he was delighted to be so well turned out, for once. It was a struggle for him and his family to stay decently dressed on his wages alone. Normally his sister Hallie would have had a job too, at least until she got married, and her money would have been a big help in supporting their widowed mother. Because of the cotton famine, however, jobs were scarce and few families in Outham had more than one breadwinner.

But he remained concerned at how much this was costing the heirs. When Mr Dawson mentioned buying a trunk, Zachary felt comfortable enough with the lawyer’s clerk to make a suggestion of his own. ‘Why don’t we check the attics above the shop and see if there are any trunks or other items of luggage? There are all sorts of bits and pieces stored there. I’ve seen them when I’ve carried things up for Mr Blake.’

‘Very sensible idea, young man. We’ll go there at once.’

Harry came out of the rear of the shop to see what they were doing when they entered the living quarters. ‘Oh, it’s you!’

He’d known perfectly well who they were, was just being nosey, Zachary thought, saying nothing.

‘Carry on with your work, Prebble,’ Mr Dawson said, in a sharp tone that said he didn’t like Harry either. ‘This is none of your business.’

When the clerk turned away, Harry glared at him, then saw Zachary looking and went back into the shop. But his expression had been so inimical that Zachary couldn’t help worrying. Harry had a reputation for getting his own back on those who had upset him. He’d not be able to do much to a man like Mr Dawson, though, surely?

The attics were very dark and there was no gas lighting up here, so Zachary ran down to ask the maid for a lamp. ‘How are things going, Dot?’

She smiled at him. ‘It’s been really peaceful. I’m so glad Mr Featherworth has let me stay on. There. This is a good bright lamp.’

‘I’ll see to lighting it.’

She lingered to chat. ‘Mrs Rainey’s cousin is coming to live here soon. Miss Blair’s been ill but she’s a lot better now. She’s been to visit and seems a really nice lady. I’ll feel better to have some company.’ She lowered her voice and glanced over her shoulder. ‘Apart from
him
.’

‘Harry?’

She nodded. ‘He keeps coming in, saying he has to check that I’m doing my work properly. And he sits up in the sitting room sometimes after work. No one told me I’d have to answer to
him
.’

Amazed by what she’d told him, Zachary took the lamp up to the attic and with its help they soon found what they were seeking. ‘There!’ He pushed some boxes aside. ‘A trunk. It’s a little battered but I don’t mind that.’ He opened and shut it, finding all the hinges and locks in good working order. ‘I shall be happy to use this one and save some money.’

The clerk nodded his approval and went back to searching, finding a large portmanteau of scuffed leather under an old rug.

Zachary hesitated, wondering whether to interfere, then decided the poor little maid needed protection. ‘Dot was saying that Harry keeps coming in to check up on what she’s doing, and . . . he sits in the owner’s quarters after work sometimes.’

The clerk looked at him in surprise. ‘What happens with the maid or in the living quarters is no concern of his, none whatsoever. I’ll mention it to Mr Featherworth. No one need know you told me. You and Prebble will have to work together after you get back, so we don’t want to stir up bad blood between you. The Methodist Minister’s cousin is to move into the flat soon, partly because I don’t trust Prebble. He’s taken a few liberties since Mr Featherworth made him manager. Miss Blair will make sure everything is looked after properly and will do a complete inventory of the contents for us. It’s asking for trouble to leave a place with so many valuable things in it empty, especially in hard times like these.’

Harry came out again to watch sourly as Zachary and the shop lad carried the trunk and portmanteau down the stairs and out to a handcart.

‘Have you no work to get on with, young man?’ Mr Dawson asked sharply. ‘This is the second time I’ve seen you neglecting your duties today.’

‘I thought you might need some help.’

‘Well, we don’t.’

Scowling, Harry went back into the shop.

‘Sitting in the flat, indeed!’ the clerk muttered as they walked back down the street. ‘Well, that’s going to stop.’

Zachary had wondered why they felt the need for someone to occupy the flat. Mr Featherworth was a kindly man, but his clerk seemed more astute. Zachary didn’t think they’d have any worries about the financial side of things, though. Harry Prebble had never been anything but honest and industrious during the years they’d worked together.

But Zachary still didn’t like him, he admitted to himself – hadn’t when they were boys, and trusted him even less as a man. He’d never understood why.

The next day Zachary’s mother was advised on how to pack his new possessions for a long journey by no less a person than Mrs Featherworth. Two extra sets of clothing and underclothing you needed, because it was not only hard to wash clothes in sea water, to do it for so many people was impossible. Trunks were brought up from the hold each month so that people could change their garments during the voyage, which would last approximately a hundred days. Just imagine that! What a great distance he’d be travelling.

Every evening he went to dinner at the lawyer’s house, the first time so nervous he doubted he’d be able to eat a mouthful. But his hostess was a motherly woman, whom he’d sometimes served in the shop, and it was impossible to stay afraid of anyone with such a warm smile.

‘You won’t mind if I help you improve your table manners, Zachary dear?’ she said gently, taking his arm as she led him into the dining room, with Mr Featherworth and his two daughters following.

‘I’d appreciate any help you can give me, Mrs Featherworth.’ He tried not to stare round but was awed that they had a big room like this purely for eating in.

As everyone took their places, she pointed to the cutlery in front of her and said in a low voice, ‘The trick is to start from the outside pieces at each side of your plate.’

While Mr Featherworth said grace, Zachary stared down at the daunting array of cutlery. So many pieces for one meal alone. How much were they going to eat?

The minute grace ended, a maid carried in a soup tureen which she set in front of her mistress. Mrs Featherworth ladled its contents into bowls and the maid passed them round, then left. Everyone seemed to be waiting to eat and no one started until the mistress did.

Zachary took up the big round spoon on the right when the others did and watched how they used it before starting on his own soup, a brown meaty concoction served with crusty rolls.

The food was delicious and for once he had more than enough to eat. He only wished he could take some of his share home for his mother and sister to try.

After the four courses were over, they went to sit in the drawing room. Mrs Featherworth patted the sofa next to her and Zachary sat down, already trusting her.

‘There are other things my daughters and I can teach you, for instance, what subjects to discuss with ladies, how to offer your arm.’

The two young women sitting nearby nodded their heads and smiled at him. Nice lasses, they seemed, about the same age as his sister. He wished Hallie had a fine dress like those they were wearing, because she was just as pretty.

‘Do you enjoy reading?’ Mrs Featherworth asked.

‘I love it. When I have time, that is.’

‘Good. We’ve found some books for you to read on the journey to help pass the time. I do hope you’ll enjoy them.’

The elder daughter got up and from behind her chair produced a pile of about a dozen books fastened together by a leather strap that even had a carrying handle on the top.

He stared at them in delight:
A Tale of Two Cities
by Dickens,
Westward Ho!
by Kingsley, a book of poetry. He’d had little time for reading in his busy life, because the shop stayed open until late. ‘Thank you so much.’

‘We got you a diary too,’ the younger daughter said. ‘Mama thought you’d want to remember your big adventure. You can write down what happens every day. I wish
I
were going to Australia. It sounds
so
exciting.’

Mr Featherworth said little, but let his womenfolk do most of the talking, sitting watching them with a fond smile.

The older daughter carried a fancy wooden box across from a side table and set it on the sofa between Zachary and his hostess.

‘This is an old travelling writing desk, which used to belong to my uncle,’ Mrs Featherworth said. ‘It was lying around in the attic, not being used, so we thought you might like it. We’ve furnished it with letter paper and envelopes, plenty of nibs, and ink powder so that you can make up more ink as you need it.’

He opened the lid and the box became a writing slope, the interior covered in dark red leather with a pattern embossed in gold round the edges. There were compartments at the front for pens, ink and sand bottles, though of course people used blotting paper these days not sand to dry the ink. ‘Thank you. I’ll take great care of it for you.’

‘Please keep it afterwards as a memento of your adventure.’

He swallowed hard and tried not to betray that this extra unnecessary generosity had moved him almost to tears. From being a man struggling to dress decently as well as provide for his mother and sister, he was suddenly being loaded with possessions. He would, he vowed mentally, not let the lawyer down whatever happened.

His hostess patted his hand in a motherly gesture. ‘If you have anything else to occupy yourself with, be sure to take it with you. The journey will go on for many weeks.’

Drawing materials
, he thought.
I used to love drawing as a lad. I can afford some plain paper and pencils, surely? And a rubber, too.
He smiled at the memory of an elderly uncle, also fond of drawing, who’d always called rubbers ‘lead eaters’.

Zachary walked home carrying the books and the writing desk, his mind humming with all the information. He was amazed at how pleasantly the evening had passed, considering how nervous he’d been. But the lawyer’s daughters were nice lasses, for all their fine clothes, and you couldn’t find a kinder lady than Mrs Featherworth, so he’d soon lost his fear of upsetting them.

It was cold and rainy and he couldn’t help shivering after being in such a well-heated house. It was hard to believe that he was going to a country where in summer the weather was hotter than it ever became in Lancashire, and where it never snowed in winter. It was hard even to imagine how that would feel.

When he got back, he found his mother and sister waiting up for him, eager to hear how the evening had gone.

Hallie pounced on the books while his mother marvelled at the travelling writing desk, running her fingers over the gleaming wood and examining each bottle and compartment.

‘Oh, you’re so lucky!’ Hallie sighed. ‘What wouldn’t I give to have all those books to read! I’ve read everything I want to from the public library.’

‘Choose one and read it while I’m away. It’ll remind you of me.’

‘Are you sure?

‘Yes, of course.’ He gave her a hug, surprised at how tall his little sister had grown lately.

She picked out
Mary Barton
, her fingers caressing the tooled leather binding of the novel. ‘I’ll take this one, then. Thank you so much, Zachary.’

He smiled indulgently. ‘I know how you love your stories of romance and adventure.’

‘It’s nice to dream sometimes.’ She gave him a quick kiss on the cheek. ‘I’ll dream for you now. Perhaps you’ll fall in love while you’re away, meet a wonderful girl on the ship or . . . No, better still, fall in love with one of the Blake sisters and then the shop will be partly yours. That’ll solve all our problems.’

He didn’t like this and drew back from her. ‘Don’t be silly! Mr Featherworth is trusting me to bring them back safely, not to prey on them.’

‘Falling in love isn’t preying, Zachary.’

‘It would be in this case.’

She flounced one shoulder at him. ‘Oh, you! Sometimes you’re too noble for words! And once you get an idea fixed in your mind, there’s no changing it. Why can you not dream and let things happen as they will?’