Beyond the Sunset (8 page)

She’d managed to speak quite cheerfully this morning, Pandora thought as they separated to continue their work. She was getting better at hiding her homesickness. Maybe one day it’d fade completely.

It hadn’t done so far.

Cassandra watched her younger sister put the second tin of dough into the oven, then clear up the mess of flour from the table top. Pandora’s homesickness was no better, she could tell that. But her sister was trying so hard to hide it and what good would it do to keep mentioning it?

They must just hope she’d settle down as time passed and lose those dark shadows under her eyes. Once they started attending the monthly church services at the shop, they’d meet some eligible young men, surely. Cassandra’s dearest wish was for her three sisters to fall in love and get married, then all of them settle close to one another.

There were supposed to be ten men for every woman here in the Swan River Colony, so it wasn’t an impossible dream, surely?

It was three years now since Pandora’s fiancé had died. Her youngest sister seemed to have got over losing Bill. Time she found someone else.

At least here in Australia they were all safe from their aunt. That was what mattered. If the price of staying alive was a few months’ unhappiness for Pandora till she settled down here, then it was well worth it.

4

H
arry watched Mr Featherworth and decided the old fellow was nervous. Now, why? What did they want to see him for today, anyway?

The lawyer cleared his throat. ‘We’re concerned that there are some – um, anomalies in the accounts for groceries supplied to the maid.’

Damn! How had they found that out? Well, good thing he’d been ready for any eventuality. These two silly old fools would never catch him out. The clerk was looking at him as if expecting the worst. Harry deliberately kept them waiting for an answer.

‘The biscuits, for instance, and the amounts of flour and sugar supplied,’ Ralph prompted. ‘They don’t tally with what Dot received.’

Harry gave him a slow, confident smile and saw him blink in surprise. ‘No, they don’t.’

‘You admit it?’

‘Yes. I’ve been doing it to save money for the new owners. I can give you the real accounts, which will show how much I’ve saved. What you’ve been giving that maid was too generous.’

Both men were frowning at him. He didn’t understand people like them. Were they so stupid they wanted to spend more of their clients’ money than they needed? They must be. Why else would they have sent Zachary to Australia cabin class. Harry hated the thought of that lanky idiot living in luxury on the Blake sisters’ money, because Harry had plans for that money himself. He intended to woo one of them, and get the rest to appoint him manager permanently. He’d do whatever it took to achieve that. He tried again to explain.

‘Dot didn’t need such a generous provision of food, Mr Featherworth. She’s only a small woman. If she’d complained of being hungry, I’d have increased what I gave her, but she didn’t, not once. I asked her if she was satisfied and she said yes. You can check that with her. So I’ve saved money for the owners already and would have saved more if you hadn’t appointed Miss Blair to live over the shop. There really was no need for that. I’d been keeping an eye on Dot, making sure she did her work properly.’

He waited, but they said nothing.

He pushed it a bit further, getting in a shot at the governess, whom he was determined to get rid of. ‘I’m disappointed to see that Miss Blair isn’t loyal to those who’re keeping her, very disappointed. Only this morning she went shopping at the market instead of with us and when I suggested she confine certain purchases to the shop, she refused even to consider it.’

Mr Dawson drew himself up. ‘What Miss Blair does with her money is none of your concern, Prebble. Am I not right, Mr Featherworth?’

‘You are indeed. A lady like her can be trusted to make her own choices and decisions.’

Lady!
thought Harry. She wasn’t what he called a lady, just a scraggy old spinster, the sort that poked her nose in where it wasn’t wanted. He realised Dawson was still speaking and began to wonder if he was the one who really ran this business, not old Featherworth. How could that be? Dawson dressed neatly but modestly and deferred to his employer all the time. But two or three times today the lawyer had looked at his clerk as if for guidance.

‘If what you claim is correct, can you show me the real accounts?’ Dawson asked sharply.

‘Yes, of course.’

‘I’ll come back with you now and check them. If you agree, of course, Mr Featherworth?’

The lawyer nodded, frowned at Harry then turned back to his clerk, his expression softening as if he was speaking to a friend. They all stuck together, those who hadn’t had to struggle for a living. Stuck-up snobs! Harry enjoyed scoring off them. That was why he’d taken the money at first, to show them he could manage things better than they could. And if they’d not found out about it, he’d have kept it. He had a few little sidelines bringing him in extra money. These two old men would have a fit if they knew half of what he got up to.

He’d find another way to prove to the new owners how capable he was, though, so that they thought well of him. If he got what he wanted out of all this, he’d not keep Featherworth as
his
lawyer.

‘I’ll leave you to deal with this matter, then, Dawson.’

That old man is soft, doesn’t like unpleasantness, Harry thought as he walked back to the shop with Mr Dawson. This one is the fellow to watch.

He tried to chat but stopped when the clerk showed no signs of responding with more than the occasional nod or shrug.

In the small office just off the packing room at the rear of the shop – a place where he loved to sit and contemplate his new kingdom – Harry took the special account book down from the top shelf and passed it to Mr Dawson with a flourish.

Pity to lose this money. He’d had a savings bank account for a while now and had been looking forward to increasing the amount in it. He’d find other ways of rewarding himself for his hard work, though, now that he’d seen how easy it was to fool people.

Well, he always had taken the odd packet of this and that, and no one had ever noticed. He sold them to his family cheaply, and they knew how to keep their mouths shut. Let alone Prebbles always stuck together, they got good food more cheaply from him. He wasn’t greedy, only took the odd packet, but it all mounted up, as his savings book showed. He loved looking at the total.

When the clerk had finished studying the books, Harry got down the small cash box and held it out. ‘You’ll find the money I saved there. I was going to give it to the new owners to show how well I’d done as manager. I’m finding as many ways to improve the shop’s profits as I can and—’

‘We don’t require you to do that, Prebble. What we asked for when we appointed you was that you continue running the shop
as Mr Blake would have done
until a permanent manager is chosen. Have you made any more changes that we don’t know about?’

Harry hesitated, but decided this wasn’t the time to conceal anything, not till he’d won their trust. ‘I’ve stopped supplying those working here with dinners. It’s an extravagance the shop can’t afford in times like this.’

‘Mr Blake used to supply dinners to his staff?’

He nodded. ‘Sandwiches and such.’

‘Then you should continue to do so.’

‘It really isn’t necessary. They’re well enough paid to buy their own.’

‘Do everything as he did it. If you can’t . . .’ He let the words trail away into an implied threat.

Harry breathed in slowly and deeply before he spoke again. ‘About the new assistant we need to hire? You said to leave it to you and get someone temporary. I’ve got a lad who comes in now and then, but it’s hard to manage without someone who knows the shop. We have to keep valued customers waiting sometimes at the moment. Mr Blake must be turning in his grave. I can find someone suitable and—’

‘I have the matter in hand and shall appoint someone before the end of the week.’

‘Surely I should be involved in selecting this person? After all, I know what is needed better than anyone.’

‘How many times do I have to remind you that you are in charge here only until the new owners come back, Prebble. The responsibility for running the shop until then is Mr Featherworth’s, and he has delegated it to me. Do not get above yourself. No decision has been made about the future, because that’s the owners’ responsibility.’

‘I’m just trying to prove myself . . . sir. Surely that’s a good thing?’

‘Making changes only shows
me
that you can’t do as we’ve asked.’

As Dawson said nothing else, just stared grimly at him, Harry spread his hands in a gesture of surrender. ‘If there is a fault, it’s—’

‘I don’t intend to revisit that subject, Prebble. And start providing dinners again for staff.’

Harry watched sourly as the clerk walked round the storage and packing area, stopping behind the lad who was weighing out sugar and putting it into the special blue paper bags. He moved on to the shop, walking slowly round it, pausing occasionally to study something.

You’ll not find anything amiss here, you old sourpuss,
Harry thought.
I keep everything perfectly clean and tidy.

When one of the two remaining shopmen had shut the door behind the clerk, Harry fixed a smile to his face and hurried to serve an important customer who had just come in.

Before the two shopmen and the shop lad left that evening, he told them he had arranged with Mr Featherworth’s clerk for a new man to be appointed to help in the shop. ‘Oh, and we’ve decided to start providing you with dinners again, as a reward for your hard work recently.’

They smiled as they waited for him to dismiss them. They’d learned to treat him with respect since he’d taken over, and so would the new man, whoever he was.

Pity. He’d been going to hire his cousin. Jimmy would have known how to show his gratitude for being helped to a good job by giving Harry a shilling a week from his wages for the first six months. And would have been absolutely loyal.

Who knew what the new person would be like and who he’d really be answering to?

Harry continued to feel annoyed at having his little scheme found out.

When he was making up the wages, he put Zachary’s money in an envelope. The lucky devil! Where would his former workmate be now? Living in luxury on the ocean, that’s where. It wasn’t right to pay his family full wages as well. Not that Harry dared interfere with that, not with Dawson peering over his shoulder all the time.

Still, he’d deliver this money personally on his way home, have a look at Zachary’s sister, see if there was any way of getting at Zachary through her.

He smiled. He didn’t like anyone getting the better of him and in the street where he lived no one would even try. Even the better-off people who shopped at Blake’s had their weaknesses just as the poorer ones did. If you could find someone’s weak spot, you could make them do as you wanted.

By getting up early each day, Cassandra managed to alter some clothes to suit her expanding waistline, and to tack the lace collar Pandora had lent her on to the blue dress, which she sponged down and ironed as best she could on the table which was their only working surface.

On board ship she’d been given the trunk of the maid whom she’d replaced and told to keep its contents. Susan Sutton had fled to her family in Yorkshire at the last minute rather than go to Australia with her employers. It still seemed wrong to Cassandra that they’d simply given away their former maid’s personal possessions, but Mr Barrett said if the new maid didn’t want the trunk, he’d simply throw it and its contents away, because he wasn’t spending good money to send it back to someone so ungrateful.

Cassandra had been able to bring so little with her when she escaped from the men her aunt had paid to kidnap her that she’d been forced to use the other woman’s things. But she’d kept Susan’s photos and other mementoes and intended to return them one day, and to pay for taking the poor woman’s clothes.

She looked up, thinking she heard voices, but there was no sign of her employers getting up yet. Francis Southerham never appeared until quite late, nine or ten o’clock, which was midmorning as far as Cassandra was concerned. He did little work apart from tending his beloved horses, going for rides and shooting kangaroos for meat. Was he lazy or wasn’t he well? She saw Livia look at him sometimes, with her brow furrowed, as if she was worried about something. And he had a persistent cough that he tried to hide from his wife.

She’d mentioned it to Reece, who thought it was something serious. Well, they’d all seen people they knew succumb to the coughing sickness. But Cassandra hoped Reece was wrong. What would Livia do without the husband she loved so much?

She looked back at her needlework. She’d just finish this seam then start her chores. She’d tried sewing after she’d finished her day’s work, but it made your eyes tired to sew by lamplight and insects battered themselves against the lamp, fluttering in your face if you got too close to it. They had to sit outdoors; there was nowhere else. It amused her that she and her sister had to sit at the cooking table while the Southerhams occupied their tiny veranda, as if to emphasise the differences in their stations. Put those two out here alone, though, and they’d be lost. So who was superior to whom?

What would Pandora do when she was on her own here? It’d be very lonely. And when the rainy season started she’d not be able to sit outside. Would she have to lie in bed on her own in the tent? That worried Cassandra.

She held the blue dress against herself. ‘What do you think?’ she asked her sister. ‘How does it look by daylight?’

‘The colour suits you and you’ll make a lovely bride. We’ll trim up your bonnet, too. I’ve got some blue ribbon that’s a good match.’

‘You’re a love. I’ll still be a very badly dressed bride, though. I wish I could have a brand new outfit. But we have to watch every penny.’

‘Reece isn’t marrying you for your clothes. He’d still love you if you were dressed in rags.’