Jewel In the North Read online

  During their trip they had got into the routine of planning their day over breakfast and reviewing their discoveries and purchases over the evening meal. His grandmother always retired early, leaving Charles the evenings to explore the night lives of first Sydney, and then Melbourne. He had turned sixteen the previous September but knew his height and older looks passed him off as a man of nineteen or twenty. It had been a surprising freedom, which he had made the most of, enjoying the delights of late-night houses and bawdy shows that had at first shocked the young man from the bush and then titillated him. He’d sampled a variety of liquor, smoked cigars and of course indulged in the welcoming pleasures of several different women. Not whores, but young ladies who were easily charmed by his ready smile and charismatic ways.

  Charles gave a self-satisfied smile. Harriet had been generous with his travel allowance. He had sowed his wild oats and learned many things about the world beyond Hawker. He would be more than ready to beguile Georgina Prosser on her return home — but that was part of his dilemma. His grandmother had asked him to be her right-hand man. Henry was obviously never going to sell up and move to Adelaide, and Harriet was sixty-five and her eyesight was failing. She needed someone to help her and eventually take over her business and she wanted that someone to be Charles. She had put a lot of effort into explaining her business and how she wanted to expand it to include menswear. Charles would be in charge of that and Miss Wicksteed would manage the ladies’ fashions with Harriet a guiding hand to them both in the background.

  Harriet had put this to him on their last night in Melbourne. She predicted an increase in demand for fine clothes. “The coming of Federation will see many celebrations. Adelaide’s gentry will want to look their best,” she’d said. She was quite sure the soon-to-be-held referendum would see a unanimous yes vote for the commonwealth bill. “We will be kept very busy.”

  It was a tempting offer and one to which Charles had given a lot of thought on the boat journey to Adelaide. He knew his grandmother would want an answer before he returned to Hawker, but he was in a difficult position. Charles was keen to expand his father’s shop and also the scope of their business. His father was fixated on acquiring land but while Charles thought it good to own property, it was a fickle business, dependent on weather and markets. Better to provide services to the people on the land. His father had done well with the creamery so far. Charles was sure there were other ways they could service the people of the area.

  Then there was Prosser’s Run. All his father’s little holdings were pitiful in comparison to that. When Charles married Georgina Prosser the combination of the Wiltshire and Prosser fortunes would be significant.

  And another possible pursuit had arisen from his chance meeting with a South African called Becker while in Melbourne. He had been in a club where scantily dressed young women served drinks, cigars and more. His mention of Hawker had attracted Becker’s interest. He was in search of diamonds and believed he’d found signs in the hills beyond the town. Even more intriguing, Becker mentioned he had been removed from the property by the owners: men called Baker. He had other prospects but he was keen to return to the area in the future and needed some reliable local knowledge.

  Charles felt a surge of anticipation. If he stayed in Adelaide he would simply be a shopkeeper. Although isolated and small, Hawker offered him a much bigger future.

  The morning sun began to beat heavily on his head and he was pleased to reach the corner and turn back into O’Connell Street. Time to meet with his grandmother. He had to convince her of his need to return to Hawker for the time being and yet have her believe he was interested in eventually managing her business.

  Harriet Wiltshire looked through bleary eyes at the young woman seated across from her. Miss Ferguson was perched on a fine damask-covered chair in the neat sitting room of Harriet’s house behind the shop. Rarely did she admit staff into her home, especially not juniors, but the shop and fitting rooms were all busy and this business needed to be sorted in private.

  Miss Wicksteed had just regaled her with Miss Ferguson’s latest blunder, the last of several, and now it was up to Harriet to deal with her. The new assistant had only been taken on because of her acquaintance with a staff member who’d recently married and left Harriet’s employ. Harriet had regretted the moment of weakness that had allowed her to hire the plain, awkward young woman. She was not like the fine-mannered girls with pleasant looks who Harriet more usually employed to grace her shop. Still, she had said a month’s trial and that time was well and truly up.

  “I am sorry about the buttons, Mrs Wiltshire. The catch on the box needs replacing.” Miss Ferguson spoke just as Harriet drew a deep breath. “None were broken and the customer wasn’t upset.”

  That was another thing Harriet disliked about the girl. She had already apologised for Miss Wicksteed’s list of her mistakes, but Edith Ferguson’s tone had been more defensive than apologetic, as it was now.

  “I’m pleased to hear that at least, Miss Ferguson.”

  “It was only a box of buttons.”

  Harriet pulled herself up higher in her own comfortable chair. The young assistant appeared to be looking down on her. “We agreed to a trial period, Miss Ferguson, but with today’s mishap and all that has occurred in my absence, I don’t believe you are suited to work in my shop.”

  “Miss Wicksteed doesn’t like me. She doesn’t record the other girls’ mistakes with such fervour.”

  Harriet pursed her lips. Indeed Miss Ferguson’s tone was almost insolent. No wonder the shop manager had taken a dislike to the girl.

  The door from the shop opened. “Ah! Good morning, Grandmother. I see—” Charles stopped beside Miss Ferguson’s chair and looked down. “I’m sorry. I didn’t realise you had company.”

  Harriet’s irritation dissolved at the sight of her darling grandson. “That’s all right, Charles. Our business is finished. If you will gather your things, Miss Ferguson, I am sure Miss Wicksteed will be ready with what we owe you.”

  “Oh dear.” Charles’s tone was musical. “Surely you’re not dismissing Miss … Ferguson was it? … over a few spilled buttons, Grandmother?” He chuckled and placed a hand on the back of the chair.

  Harriet’s annoyance rose again. There was little she would deny her grandson but he was yet to learn how to employ and manage staff.

  “I’m afraid that is the case, Mr Wiltshire.” Miss Ferguson’s bottom lip trembled.

  “There is more to it than that,” Harriet snapped.

  The young woman sat forward and gripped her hands tightly together. “I need this job, Mrs Wiltshire.”

  Harriet shook her head. “I’m sorry, but you are not suited. I will write you a reference. I am sure there will be some kind of shop work for you, but not in my business.”

  Edith Ferguson’s face crumpled and large tears rolled down her cheeks. “What am I to do?” she cried.

  “Can’t we give Miss Ferguson another chance, Grandmother?” Charles plucked his freshly laundered handkerchief from his pocket and offered it to the young woman, who dabbed delicately at her eyes with it.

  “She has had several chances.”

  “I have no-one,” Miss Ferguson wailed. “Without this job my landlord will cast me out onto the street.”

  Harriet sat back. It was quite possible that was the case but it was not her responsibility. Besides, the young woman gave her the impression she could look after herself.

  “Would you be prepared to move to Hawker, Miss Ferguson?”

  Harriet’s eyebrows shot up at her grandson’s suggestion. “Charles, I don’t—”

  “It’s all right, Grandmother.” Charles gave her one of his delightful smiles. “It may be the answer for all of us if Miss Ferguson is game. I have had a telegram from Father this morning urging me home, as Mr Hemming must take leave. We are already short staffed and Mother rarely ventures out of the house these days, let alone to the shop. We are on the lookout for a new assistant.”


  “Is there no-one in Hawker?”

  “Not with the kind of training I am sure Miss Ferguson has learned working here.”

  Harriet lowered her gaze to the young woman, who gave a sob and patted at her dry cheeks with the handkerchief. “Do you know where Hawker is, Miss Ferguson? It is a long way from Adelaide. You are a young woman to make such a journey alone.”

  “She wouldn’t be alone, Grandmother. She can travel with me and, now that the extensions are finished on our house, Mrs Nixon has moved into the new quarters at the back and the small cottage beside it is vacant. Miss Ferguson would have us close by if she needed help.”

  Harriet forgot about Miss Ferguson and focused on her grandson. She had so enjoyed his company these last two months she had almost forgotten he must return home for the time being.

  “I think you should discuss this with your father first. He is the one who hires staff.”

  “We discussed the need for an extra assistant in our recent correspondence but he has employed no-one yet.” Charles crossed the space between them, took her small knotted hand in his large warm one and patted it. “If Father has good staff I will be able to return all the sooner to you. This is the perfect solution for everyone. If Miss Ferguson agrees.”

  The young woman rose. “I like a challenge, Mr Wiltshire. Thank you most kindly for your generosity. I won’t let you down.”

  Charles patted Harriet’s hand again. “There, that’s settled.”

  She blinked, willing her eyes to focus clearly, and peered around his broad arm to her erstwhile assistant. She was sure she’d glimpsed a smug look of defiance on Miss Ferguson’s pinched face.

  Ten

  William shoved the calico-wrapped bread into his bag beside the oranges and the small parcel of meat and picked up his water bottle.

  “Thanks, Jessie.” He gave the young woman at the other side of the big Smith’s Ridge front room an encouraging smile but she looked down and pushed the broom harder across the floor, raising a cloud of dust that made her sneeze.

  “Whoa.” Hegarty stepped through from the kitchen behind her and she almost dropped the broom.

  “A little more gently, lass.” He took the broom and demonstrated. “This place hasn’t been cleaned properly in quite a while.” He looked over the girl’s bent head and directed a glare at William.

  “Don’t look at me.” William shook his head. “You wanted a housekeeper.”

  Hegarty crossed the room and muttered in William’s ear as he passed. “Someone who could cook at least.”

  “Millie’s coming over to stay for a while after Christmas. She’s going to conduct some lessons.” He nodded in the direction of the determined sweeper. “Jessie is a quick learner.”

  The young woman looked up at the mention of her name, gave William a quick smile and returned to her sweeping. She was very reticent without Clem’s presence but her features lit up when she smiled. William could understand what had first attracted his stockman, Clem, who then fell in love and made her his wife.

  Jessie’s early years had been tough. Her mother was Aboriginal and her father an Afghan. She had drifted between both groups until her parents died within months of each other, leaving young Jessie to move from place to place, always on the outer. She’d been living in squalid quarters, washing linen at a hotel in Hawker, when Clem met her. He’d married her a few months back. Neither of them had family and William had been the only witness at the wedding, where he’d been happy to escort Jessie down the aisle. The young couple had then settled in the old cottage Clem occupied at Smith’s Ridge.

  William had offered Jessie the job of housekeeper soon after she arrived. Clem’s work at Smith’s Ridge often took him away from the main homestead and, though Jessie had only ever worked in the laundry at the hotel, she was pleased to have something to do. So far her attempts at cooking had been on a par with Hegarty’s and, in William’s opinion, not as good as his own, but he had been happy to not have to worry about food preparation any more. He had enough to do.

  “I’m heading out to check the waterholes along the Prosser’s Run boundary. Clem’s due back from the northern run any day.”

  “With any luck he’ll have found a straggler sheep or two. We’re in need of some fresh meat.”

  “I doubt there’s any left up there that the natives haven’t found.” Since his talk with Yardu and the old man’s death William had taken on the responsibility of assisting the survival of the group still living in the hills at the back of Smith’s Ridge. His father also allowed them the run of the country at Wildu Creek, and the few remaining able-bodied men worked for either William or Joseph.

  “I’ll go the other way towards Wildu Creek,” Hegarty said. “I should be back around the same time as you.”

  William waved a hand at the remaining food on the table. “Jessie has prepared some food for us to take.”

  Hegarty raised his eyebrows but crossed to the table to collect his share without a word.

  “Can you check that new fence along the eastern boundary while you’re there?” William watched as the older man collected the bread and neatly wrapped pickled meat. “That waterhole just the other side of the boundary will be a big temptation for the cattle.”

  “I’ll check it. Have you made up your mind about which stock you’re selling?”

  William took his hat from the hook by the door and turned back. Jessie had given up on the broom and he could hear her doing something in the kitchen. “When I get back.”

  “You can’t leave it too much longer. The export market won’t take poor-quality cattle.”

  William was disappointed they would have to exit that market. They had done well from selling prime Smith’s Ridge cattle and Wildu Creek sheep for English consumption. They had just begun to make some headway with it when weather conditions had adversely affected their stock.

  “Those in the south who want to buy still have feed,” Hegarty said. “But who knows when this drought will begin to affect them too?”

  “It may not.”

  “No, but best to sell now while cattle are still bringing a good return.”

  William knew Hegarty made sense but he was sacrificing some of his hard-earned best breeding stock. Still, better to get money for them than to watch them die if the drought continued. “When I get back.”

  “We should look at the horses too.” The gruffness of Hegarty’s tone softened. “Those that aren’t good as stock horses should go.”

  William met Hegarty’s gaze. They were both keen horsemen, although Hegarty was more interested in breeding racehorses than William, who was developing good stock horses. They’d gone halves in a stallion when they first started working together on Smith’s Ridge and the beast had sired several promising offspring, two of them better suited to racing than stock work. They’d built up quite a stable. He was training one fine mare in particular. He’d named her Bella and she was to be his gift to Georgina when she came home. She wasn’t a racehorse but William thought her capable of stock work. William knew Hegarty thought the mare an indulgence. He gave a sharp dip of his head. “I’ll be back in three days, maybe four. We’ll work it out then.”

  By the time William had saddled his horse the sun was well above the horizon and another cloudless blue sky spread as far as he could see. They had recorded little rain in the last two years and on the plains virtually nothing had fallen in that time. It was definitely a drought, but how long would it last? That was the gamble.

  The creeks and the waterholes were dry. Only the permanent springs fed water into pools, and that was not enough for the voracious throats of cattle that required as much as eight gallons each of water a day. Hegarty was right. He did have to make a decision to destock, and the sooner the better.

  William had given up on his idea of somehow shifting the water from the more inaccessible springs in the hills. It had simply not been practical and had caused a lot of unrest. It frustrated him to know a ready source of water was available but beyond
the reach of his cattle, and yet he knew there were some water supplies he must leave alone.

  Inevitably William’s thoughts drifted to Georgina. Her last letter had said they would return to her English relatives at the start of the European winter and she hoped her mother would be ready to book a passage home by then. He longed to see her again. To take her in his arms, to kiss her and to finally make her his wife.

  It was nearly Christmas. Too soon to expect her arrival even if they had taken the first available passage after her last letter, but he hoped she would return early in the new year.

  A noise ahead distracted him from his thoughts. William reined in his horse, startled. Clem was on foot, leading his horse towards him. A man was collapsed over the saddle and from the look of his body he’d been badly beaten.

  William climbed down from his horse as Clem came to a stop in front of him. “What’s happened?” Blood oozed from the gaping lacerations on the prone man’s back, and he moaned. “Is that your friend, Albie?”

  “Stupid bugger went back to Prosser.” Clem spat the word. “Thought he’d get his old job back. Lucky I was up near the boundary. Saw Prosser’s men dump him over your fence.”

  William’s anger rose. “Did Prosser do this?” He looked at the wounds but didn’t know where to begin to aid the now loudly moaning Albie.

  “That’s what Albie said.” Clem trickled water into the corner of the injured man’s mouth.

  William could see blood seeping over his lips. “Where are you taking him?”

  “Millie.”

  William dragged his gaze from the bloodied back where flies were collecting in little black lines. “Wildu Creek is too far. We’ll have to take him to Smith’s Ridge.”

  “Jessie’s no good with blood.”