His wife looked up. ‘Did he say why? His letter about the inheritance can’t have got to Australia yet. It’ll be months before we hear from the girls.’
‘No. He didn’t say why, just that it was urgent. I’ll walk round to his rooms now.’
‘I’ll be at the sewing class when you come back. It’s going well now that we’ve got our people out of the Vicar’s clutches, but everyone is longing for the war to end and cotton to start coming here again. I feel so sorry for those poor girls. They sit and sew but their hearts aren’t in it. They always used to be so cheerful when we saw them in the street, didn’t they?’
He walked into town and was shown into Featherworth’s rooms.
‘I heard from the place where they’re caring for Mrs Blake. She’s refusing to eat or drink and is going downhill rapidly. Spends her time talking to her husband. The owners want someone to go and see her, so that no one can accuse them of not treating her well. Will you come with me?’
‘Shouldn’t the doctor go?’
‘He says he’s not got time and anyway, he knows the fellow running that place, trusts him absolutely. Still ... I do feel I should go, just this once.’
‘Very well. I’ll come with you.’
‘I’ll hire a carriage. It’s a very isolated place. No railway station nearby. Amazing how quickly we’ve grown used to the convenience of trains, isn’t it? Tomorrow all right?
‘I’ll have to rearrange a few things, but yes. Let’s get it over with. I’m not looking forward to seeing her again, I must admit. And though I’m a Christian, I can’t forgive her for what she did.’
About eleven the following morning, they arrived at the big country house bearing a sign on the heavy wrought iron gates saying ‘Rest Home for Gentlefolk’. A man came out to open up the huge iron gates and let them through, and shut it at once behind them. As the two horses clopped slowly up the drive, the two visitors stared round.
‘The place is well cared for. They can’t be short of money. Well, they charge enough, do they not? It’s outrageously expensive.’
They were admitted to the house by another burly man, who took them to the office of the owner, who was a doctor.
‘Please take a seat. Can I send for some tea?’
‘Could we get the visit done with first?’ the lawyer asked. ‘I must admit I’m not looking forward to seeing Mrs Blake. She was very violent last time.’
‘She’s not violent now. We give such cases a calming potion every day. It’s better for them, and makes them easier for us to deal with.’
He led the way upstairs and turned right. ‘We keep the violent cases in this wing, the harmless ones have more freedom.’
A woman who looked as strong as the men they’d seen led them to a room and unlocked the door.
The woman inside looked up. Her hair was a tangled mass of grey hanging down her back, her face had been blank but at the sight of the lawyer, that changed to a look of hatred and she lunged at them.
The nurse and doctor stepped between them and as Mrs Blake began to scream another woman came running.
‘Chains!’ the doctor called.
She went away and came back with manacles. It took three of them to attach one to Isabel Blake’s ankle and then to the iron foot of the bed frame.
She stopped screaming once they’d done that, but the way she glared at them was enough to make both men shiver and without a word they left the room. She hadn’t said a word, but her expression had been horrifying, so full of hatred.
Downstairs they accepted refreshments and sat in silence.
‘There’s nothing we can do to help her,’ the doctor said quietly. ‘All we can do is keep her calm and clean – and as you can see, sometimes we can’t even do that. We do try to do her hair, but she throws such a fit of hysterics if we try to touch it that we merely wash it every week or two. I don’t know why she’s obsessed by hair. She seems afraid we’ll cut it all off. But with your permission, we shall cut it much shorter. It’ll be easier to keep her clean.’
‘Do whatever you think best. She looked very thin.’
‘As I wrote to you, she won’t eat.’ He hesitated. ‘We can force a little food into her, but not enough to maintain life in the long-term. I wanted you to see how she is. I pride myself on offering the most modern and humane treatment available to these poor creatures, but some of them ... Well, medical science knows of no way to help people like her.’
On the way back, Featherworth said suddenly, ‘It’ll be a mercy if she dies.’
Gerald Rainey nodded. He felt the sight of Isabel with that madness in her eyes would stay with him for a long time. ‘I’ll pray for her soul. Let me know if you hear any news.’
As the carriage rolled through the countryside, the lawyer said suddenly, ‘What do you think of Harry Prebble, the fellow managing the shop?’
‘I don’t know him. He’s not a member of my congregation.’
‘There’s something I don’t quite like about him. I can’t work out what, because he’s always very civil, and he seems to be making a fair enough job of running the shop. Oh, I’m probably just imagining things. Think no more of it.’
But Gerald told his wife and she said the same thing.
‘Mr Prebble is always very polite when he serves me, but ... I agree with Mr Featherworth. I really cannot like him.’
‘As long as he runs the shop properly, it’s not necessary to like him.’
‘Do you think the girls will come back?’
‘Surely they will?’
Zachary watched Harry, who had been putting on airs since he’d been asked to manage the shop until the new owners could be found. It was very hard to put up with the other’s officious ways.
When a message was delivered by one of the many lads hanging around in the streets these days, Harry read it then beckoned to Zachary. ‘The lawyer wants a word with you.’
‘Me? What about?’
‘I don’t know. But he wants to see you immediately, so you’d better put on your jacket and go.’
As if he needed telling that! Zachary hung up his long apron and left. What did Mr Featherworth want with him? Surely they weren’t going to dismiss him? They needed extra help in the shop, not less, without Mr Blake. He sighed. He missed the kindly old man. He didn’t miss Mrs Blake, though. She’d always been strange, even before she went mad, and had treated that poor maid shockingly. Zachary hated to see anyone bullied.
He was shown straight into the lawyer’s office.
‘Ah, Carr. Sit down, sit down.’
‘Is something wrong, Mr Featherworth?’
‘No, no. But I’m wondering if you could help me.’ He explained the situation.
Zachary gaped at him. ‘You want me to go to Australia?’
‘Yes. I know it’s a long journey, but I need someone who recognises Mr Blake’s nieces and of course, they’ll need a man to escort them on the journey back. All your expenses will be paid, of course, and—’
For a moment, Zachary considered it, then sighed and shook his head. ‘I’d like to go, I really would, sir, but I’m the sole support of my mother and sister. What would happen to them without my wages?’
The lawyer frowned at him and Zachary held his breath. If a solution could be found – oh, he prayed it would – he’d go like a shot.
‘Are they without work because of the Cotton Famine?’
‘No, sir. They didn’t work in the cotton mills. My mother looked after the house and my sister was too young to work. But my father died suddenly and though my sister’s seventeen now, there’s no regular work to be had for young women in the town, so I’ve been supporting them for a few years.’
‘Very commendable. I’m sure we can arrange to pay your wages to them. If we do that, will you go? I much prefer to send someone I know and trust.’
‘In that case, I’d be very happy to go.’
‘Excellent! I know I can trust you.’
Zachary stopped outside the lawyer’s rooms, his head spinning. He wanted to run, shout for joy, tell the world, but contented himself with clapping his hands several times. He saw an old woman stop to stare at him and grinned at her. ‘I just had some good news.’
She smiled at him and walked on.
He set off, enjoying stretching his long legs. The sun peeped out from behind the clouds and though it was still cold, he felt warm with happiness.
He got back to the shop all too soon. There were no customers, so Harry beckoned him into the back room.
‘Well? What did he want?’
Zachary told him and wasn’t displeased to see Harry scowl. The two of them didn’t get on, never had, but Harry was good at ingratiating himself with people, so had been made senior, even though they were roughly the same age. And of course, Harry was good-looking, which made life easier for him, while Zachary knew his face was too bony to be considered attractive. Well, he couldn’t afford to court a young woman, not with his mother and sister to support, so that was of no importance.
‘Why did Featherworth choose you? Why did he not ask me?’
‘You’re managing the shop. Would you want to miss that opportunity?’
Harry shrugged. ‘I’d have been happy to help those poor young women.’
I’m sure you would, Zachary thought. You’ll be ingratiating yourself with the new owners before they’ve even crossed the threshold, you will. Aloud he said only, ‘He said he needed to send someone who would recognise Mr Blake’s nieces.’
‘You don’t know them all that well.’
‘I’ve seen them many a time. We live near their old house.’
‘I still think Featherworth should have found someone else. How am I to manage if no one else knows how to do the work here?’
Zachary didn’t let Harry’s ill humour affect him. It had been a bleak few years since his father’s death, the responsibility for his family sitting heavily on his shoulders. Now, he was to have an adventure, learn something about the world, and still know that his mother and sister were all right.
The thought of travelling to Australia excited him more than anything ever had in his life before.
The Southerhams and their servants set off at four o’clock in the morning, in order to make it to the farm in one day. During the journey Cassandra barely spoke a word. To Pandora’s surprise, Mr Southerham maintained a cheerful conversation with his wife, discussing what they’d bought and the prices they’d paid, acting as if the three servants in the cart were not able to hear every word.
Mrs Southerham showed more consideration and brought them into the conversation several times, telling them about the farm and what she and her husband hoped to achieve there. They’d decided to call it Westview, because it looked in that direction. A name should mean something, should it not?
Sometimes they got out and walked, in order to lighten the load for the horses, and they stopped twice to make a quick meal of bread and cold meat. Each time Reece lit a fire and brewed tea with an ease that surprised Pandora. Each time Cassandra avoided even looking at him.
As the journey dragged on and they stopped yet again to rest the horses and stretch their legs, Mrs Southerham glanced at the sky. ‘It’s later than we’d hoped, so we won’t get home till after dark. I did tell you you’d be sleeping in a tent, didn’t I? Reece used to sleep there. It’s perfectly comfortable.’
When Cassandra said nothing, Pandora turned to him. ‘Will we be taking your bedroom, Reece?’
‘No. I sleep at the neighbour’s house now. He’s old and needs help, and I’m leasing some land from him.’
‘What sort of land?’
‘Oh, just some pastures on which I can run a few sheep later on, when I’ve cleared the land. There’s a shortage of timber here, so I can make a little money from selling the bigger trees I fell. It’s in the lease how much I can take each year. Kevin doesn’t want to lose the woods completely. Though he calls them “the bush”.’
Cassandra still said nothing, but her sister knew she was listening intently.
When at long last they drew up at the farm, Pandora tried to hide her amazement that people like their employers could be living in such a tiny house. And although there seemed to be quite a lot of land, it was mostly uncleared bush and Westview was even more isolated than she’d expected. They hadn’t passed another dwelling for a while, and then only the occasional farm, not a single proper village.
The long purplish shadows cast on the other side of the trees by the setting sun made everything seem unreal. She looked back in the direction they’d come to see the sun about to slide beneath the horizon. Even as she watched, it stopped looking like a sphere, seeming to be sucked down by the black horizon below it.
After that it went dark so quickly they had to finish unloading the food supplies by the light of two oil lanterns, which immediately attracted several large moths. Mrs Southerham showed them how to put the fresh food in a square box with mesh sides whose feet stood in cups of water to prevent ants getting into it.
‘There’s hardly any twilight at this latitude,’ Reece explained when Pandora commented on the fast onset of darkness. ‘I’ll just start a fire to heat the water, then perhaps you could help me move some of the things in the store tent, Mr Southerham to make more sleeping space for Pandora and Cassandra? Those boxes are too heavy for the women.’
He spoke civilly to his employer, he always did, but it was his voice they heard giving directions from inside the tent. And it was he who had taken the lead after they got off the cart. Some words she’d read in a poem,
Who’s master, who’s man?
came into her mind and she wondered who had written them. Dean Swift, she remembered a moment or two later, pleased that she hadn’t forgotten everything from the old life. How she missed books and poetry! How she missed – everything!