Orchid Bay

by Patricia Shaw

Genres: General Fiction; Sagas

Synopsis

Murder, intrigue and a reputation at stake... Set in the 1870s, Patricia Shaw's Orchid Bay is a dramatic saga of innocent Londoner Emilie Tissington caught up in intrigue and murder in Australia's Queensland. The perfect read for fans of Colleen McCullough and Tricia McGill. 'Shaw gets it all right' - Publishers Weekly When the young governess Emilie Tissington is approached by happy-go-lucky Mal Willoughby in the streets of Brisbane, Australia, her proper English upbringing prevents her from encouraging conversation. But, later, another chance meeting with Mal will involve her in a controversy of murder and intrigue that will ruin her reputation. For just as the friendship blossoms, Mal is threatened with hanging for a crime he didn't commit and, hunted by the police, he turns to Emilie, his only friend. What readers are saying about Orchid Bay : 'Patricia Shaw gives us a wonderful history lesson, an insight into Queensland's history and illustrates the life and times of its people ' 'Another absolutely terrific book from Patricia Shaw'

Release date: October 27, 2011

Publisher: Headline

Print pages: 384

Sample

The dazzling white lighthouse at Cape Moreton blazed a warm welcome to the weary passengers and crew of the City of Liverpool as she sailed sturdily into the bay on this glorious sunny morning, and they were pathetically grateful for its reassuring presence. The dangers of the great oceans were behind them. The voyage of fifteen weeks to the day was almost over.

They had been warned that this wide bay could be rough, but today it was kind as the ship left the shelter of Stradbroke Island and headed for the mainland, rocked by a gentle swell. High above, pelicans drifted in the depths of a flawless blue sky, and sleek dolphins flashed through the clear waters as if challenging the vessel to race them to the mouth of the Brisbane River.

Two young ladies in dark bonnets and capes stood at the crowded rail of the small section of deck allotted to second-class passengers, eagerly viewing their progress.

‘Shan’t be long now,’ Emilie said to her sister, excitement in her voice.

‘Thank God for that. I can’t wait to get off this dreadful ship.’

They passed several islands and Emilie consulted her notebook.

‘It says here that one of those islands is called St Helena and it is also a prison. How extraordinary. And the other one is a leprosarium. What a horrible place that must be, Ruth.’

‘Terrifying. But I suppose the poor things could be in worse places. The islands themselves appear pleasant.’

Other passengers began moving about, bringing cabin luggage up to the decks, gathering family and friends together to engage in lengthy farewell conversations and comparisons of further travel plans. But the Tissington sisters remained aloof. They were on their way to find employment as governesses in Brisbane or the vicinity and, in deference to their calling, they deemed it important to learn as much as possible about this new land. They had both kept journals of the voyage, and read everything they could find about Australia, but now they could physically expand their knowledge by not wasting a minute as they travelled down the river, taking note of its course and the unusual flora that bordered its muddy shores.

It must be said, too, that though they gave the impression of sophistication, neither of them was above a childish searching of those same shores for a glimpse of the famous kangaroos or koalas, but unfortunately not one marsupial as much as showed a nose from the greenery. Birds, however, were not in short supply. On past the coastal mangroves Ruth recognised stately eucalypts towering over bushland lit by clumps of startling red flowers, obviously a source of nectar for the thousands of brightly coloured birds that screeched and chattered along the banks.

Emilie was charmed. ‘Will you look at those parrots! Aren’t they just gorgeous?’

‘Lorikeets, I believe. It’s wonderful to be able to see them in the wild. Excellent subjects for your watercolours.’

They returned to their own thoughts, gazing at the unfamiliar countryside, Ruth’s mind drifting unwillingly to the unhappy chain of events that had forced them to go abroad in search of a decent living. She shuddered. Had they not gained the support of the Female Middle Class Emigration Society they would by now have reached the end of their tether in London, living in hideous poverty, unemployed and desperate. She mourned their dear mother. Alice Tissington would have turned in her grave had she known the misery her two daughters had endured since her death. She had been an educated woman, her father a philosopher and mathematician, and she had seen to it that Ruth and Emilie received comprehensive tutelage in the arts in addition to the knowledge they acquired at the Brackham village school.

Three years ago … a lifetime ago, Ruth mused … their widowed father had remarried. The shy girls made their stepmother welcome, only to find that this woman begrudged their presence in the small household, and they were soon to hear in the village that she was given to gossiping about them, claiming that they were lazy and indolent, a couple of budding old maids who were a burden on their dear father. The twenty-three-year-old Ruth was shocked and embarrassed. In her quiet way she reminded the new Mrs Tissington that her earnings as a music teacher contributed to the housekeeping and that Emilie, only nineteen, was already taking private pupils in French and art appreciation.

‘That’s another thing,’ the woman had retorted. ‘I won’t have my home turned into a schoolroom with all sorts marching in and out. Take your lessons elsewhere.’

Ruth appealed to William Tissington, who pointed out that his wife was within her rights. ‘How can she entertain in her own drawing room if you’ve got juveniles plonking away on the piano in there? Besides, the poor woman is suffering headaches from the constant jangling.’

Confrontations between the women became more frequent. Emilie objected fiercely to their stepmother’s constant carping, while Ruth endeavoured to solve the problems as a gentlewoman should, but to no avail. Naively, the sisters did not understand that a wife could undermine them, chipping away at their security until their base became very fragile.

When Emilie announced that she had invited friends to another of their musical evenings, Mrs Tissington flatly refused permission.

‘I am informing you as a courtesy,’ Emilie flared. ‘Our musical evenings are highly regarded in the village, they always have been. Ruth and I are entitled to a social life. We don’t need your permission to have a few friends over; this is our home too, you know.’

‘We’ll see about that. I shall speak to Mr Tissington.’

‘By all means!’

Their father’s decision still rankled.

‘I cannot put up with this constant bickering. This lady is my wife. She shouldn’t have to put up with it either. She has done her best with you girls, but apparently you do not reciprocate her attempts at goodwill. It will be better if you find other accommodation.’

After the initial shock had subsided, the two young women agreed that a move wasn’t such a bad idea after all. It would be pleasant to have their own home, to be independent, and wonderfully free of that dreadful person. However, they decided against renting accommodation in the village because it would soon be common knowledge that they had, in effect, been evicted from their own home. Neither of them was willing to suffer that humiliation. Better to go straight to London, where they knew a few people and where there would be a much wider scope of opportunities for them to seek engagements as tutors or day governesses.

Tissington gave Ruth twenty pounds to begin with, and a promise of further financial assistance, which never eventuated. He also arranged for a carrier to take their trunks and furniture to London. Furniture, his wife was quick to point out, that she was sparing them from her home, out of the goodness of her heart.

Thinking back now, Ruth realised how foolish she’d been to expect to arrive in London and find suitable employment with only personal references. As they were told time and again, by prospective employers and agents, they lacked experience.

She choked back a sob. But what else could they have done? Abandoned by their father, funds dwindling, they managed to earn a few shillings here and there, working at stop-gap jobs, assisting in libraries, letter-copying in offices, minding children in the absence of their nannies, and other insignificant posts, but desperation had set in. They sold their books and as much of their furniture as they could spare, moved to a bleak basement room, and sat in the dark at night, half starved, afraid even to waste a candle, and all the while their pleas to their father for help were ignored.

It was Emilie who heard about the Female Middle Class Emigration Society, Emilie who contacted them and stumbled on the first glimmer of good fortune the girls had encountered for such a long time. One of the members, checking their applications, had known their late mother. She was distressed to find that her friend’s daughters had fallen on hard times, and immediately recommended that they be accepted into the emigration programme. They were soon deemed to be ideal to take up positions as governesses in Queensland, travelling under the auspices of the Society, and were offered a loan of two hundred pounds to cover their passage and expenses. The two girls were overjoyed. Not only had they narrowly escaped penury, but now they heard that they could expect to earn at least one hundred pounds a year as governesses in the Colony. They discovered, however, that there was one last hurdle to overcome. They had to produce a guarantor for the loan, in case they found themselves unable to refund the money within the specified three years. The guarantor would then become liable.

‘What can we do?’ Emilie had wailed. ‘Who would guarantee us such a large amount?’

‘Father.’

‘Who? Definitely not! I wouldn’t ask him if my life depended on it.’

‘We have to try,’ Ruth said gloomily. ‘Our lives could depend on it.’

‘He won’t answer.’

‘He just might. Don’t you see? If he knows we’re leaving the country, and that the Society has assured us of positions in the Colony, he’ll be rid of us. No more begging letters. We will be able to repay the loan ourselves, with three years in which to do so. He’s got nothing to lose. I believe he will write a guarantee for us. It’s the least he can do now.’

Emilie finally agreed that they should ask him, but she had another plan in mind as a fallback position. ‘Very well, write to him, Ruth. But if he refuses, I’ll write the guarantee myself, and forge his signature.’

‘Oh my Lord! You wouldn’t!’

‘I certainly would. By the time he found out, we’d have left the country.’

As it turned out, William Tissington did guarantee them, causing his daughters to despise him for that as well.

Now Emilie nudged her sister. ‘Penny for your thoughts.’

Dismissing the past, Ruth smiled wanly. ‘I do hope that when we take up our engagements we shan’t be too far apart. They say that distance is a hard master out here, and travel is expensive.’

‘Cheer up. We might even be employed by neighbours. I think we are coming to the outskirts of the town now, judging by those farmhouses.’

No matter how she tried, Ruth couldn’t match Emilie’s enthusiasm for this venture. She had only gone along with it because they had no choice. As the ship berthed at the Brisbane wharves, however, she felt a rush of relief. The town seemed pleasant, if countrified, with low white buildings surrounded by a backdrop of distant hills.

Some of the expenses incurred on boarding the City of Liverpool had been cabin fittings. They had managed a half-cabin to themselves, separated from two rowdy women by a canvas curtain, and had purchased mattresses for the bare bunks, as well as life preservers, lanterns, a toilet pail and various other shipboard necessities. However, they had saved money by bringing their own linen and crockery, lamps and candles. None of these items would be any use to them ashore, since they’d be taking up live-in positions, so Emilie was engaged in arranging their sale to the second mate, who would resell them to outgoing passengers, at a profit, no doubt.

Ruth waited for her sister in the cabin, to make sure that none of their belongings left the ship in the hands of the other women, who were great borrowers and poor returners. She took this opportunity to complete the letter she had written to Jane Lewin, director of the Society, thanking her for their kindness, promising to repay the loan as soon as possible, and describing the voyage as absolute misery from beginning to end. She made it very clear that ladies should not be sent out second class.

The company they’d been forced to endure for months had been inappropriate and intolerable. She described them as vulgarians of the lowest order, and their attitude to the only two ladies in their midst as disgraceful. She had no qualms about sending this information, as Miss Lewin had specifically mentioned that reports from their governesses would be appreciated.

When Emilie came down, grumbling that she’d only managed to prise two pounds out of the second mate, Ruth blushed.

‘Oh well, that will have to do. You can hardly haggle.’

‘I did haggle. He only wanted to give me one. We can go now, the steward will bring up our trunks. We’re here, Ruth, do you realise that? We’ve arrived on the other side of the world. Isn’t it amazing? I can’t wait to explore.’

‘I can’t wait for the taste of fresh food again,’ her sister said drily.

Contrary to expectations, there was no one to meet them. They stood forlornly on the wharf in the staggering heat, waiting for the agent, or at least an associate of the Society, to come for them, but no one appeared, nor had anyone enquired after them on board. As the afternoon shadows grew long, they had no recourse but to seek advice from the ship’s captain, who recommended them to a boarding house in Adelaide Street.

‘Best you retire for the evening, ladies, so that I know where you are when your tardy friends come a-searching. Then in the morning the sun will shine again and all will be well.’

He arranged for them to travel to the oddly named Belleview Boarding House in a horse cab, and they enjoyed the short journey until they discovered it had cost them three shillings plus seven pence for their trunks.

‘We should have walked,’ Ruth whispered.

‘We couldn’t, we might never have seen our trunks again.’

They were met by their landlady, a Mrs Medlow, who informed them that her tariff was four shillings and sixpence each overnight, or one guinea each at the weekly rate, full board. They took the overnight rate, explaining that they were unsure of their plans, and were shown to a large room on the ground floor.

The room, with its inviting single beds and immaculate appointments, was a godsend for the Tissingtons, but they simply accepted quietly, rather than give any indication that they’d recently emerged from second class.

‘Dinner’s at six. The bell will go any minute,’ Mrs Medlow told them before departing.

‘Oh, heavens!’ Emilie cried. ‘Real beds! Privacy. Cleanliness is next to godliness indeed. No more stinks and smells.’ She pulled back the white counterpane on one bed. ‘Do feel the sheets, Ruth. They’re soft and sweet-smelling, not stiff from the salt wash. I may never leave here.’

Ruth laughed. ‘I can smell the cooking. We must change quickly before I faint from hunger.’

Properly attired in dark taffeta dresses, tiny toques set primly on upswept hair, the Misses Tissington were ushered to their corner table in the dining room, under the curious gaze of other diners. An elderly gentleman sitting alone at a nearby table greeted them.

‘Evening, ladies. Just off the boat, eh?’

Unaccustomed to being addressed so boldly by a complete stranger, Emilie could only manage a curt nod, while Ruth fumbled for her napkin, not a little shocked by his temerity. Dinner was a set menu, but the fare was excellent – rich broth, roast lamb with a tureen of fresh vegetables, and lemon pudding – and the girls ate as delicately as they could, reluctantly leaving a small portion of each dish in deference to propriety.

The waitress informed them that coffee would be served in the parlour, but they declined politely. Suddenly they were both very tired, the strain of the long, exhausting voyage taking its toll.

‘I’m glad now that we weren’t met,’ Emilie sighed as she closed the bedroom door behind her. ‘It is so much better for us to have this time to ourselves to recuperate.’

Before they retired, they kneeled to pray, giving thanks to the Lord for delivering them safely to shore, but the rest of their prayers were lost to weariness. In a matter of minutes they were both asleep, luxuriating in the peace and comfort of the unassuming boarding-house room.

Julius Penn, Employment Agent, beamed at the long queue of females lined up outside his Ann Street office, greeting several of the regulars by name.

‘You back again, Dulcie?’ he said to a blonde woman as he unlocked the door. ‘What went wrong this time?’

‘They never paid me, that’s what’s wrong. I been cooking for them for a fortnight and all they can do is cry poor-mouth, tell me I have to wait for me money. How am I expected to pay me rent, I ask you?’

‘Very well, very well, I’ll cross them off the books. We’ll find something else.’

‘Seems to me half the bosses you got on your books oughta be crossed off,’ she snapped, but he merely looked at the wall clock in his office and closed the door behind him, leaving her outside to compare complaints with the other hopefuls. Ten minutes to go before opening time.

He hung his hat and cane on a wooden peg, then removed his jacket and hooked it on another peg before taking his place at his desk in his shirtsleeves. As he lit a cheroot, he surveyed the rows of empty seats in front of him and shook his head. Dulcie was right: half the employers on his books would pull any trick to avoid paying servants. On the other hand, half of the females he sent out wouldn’t know how to do a decent day’s work, so it was tit for tat. He just moved them all about, collecting a shilling for each appointment from both employee and employer. Amazing how they added up, all those little shillings. Julius, now in his fiftieth year, wondered why he hadn’t thought of this lark years ago. He’d had a hard life, he was wont to bewail, nothing had ever seemed to go right for him, though he’d had any number of jobs, from clerking to roaming the outback as a travelling salesman. Many a grand plan he’d had too, guaranteed to make his fortune in double-quick time, but they always fell flat. Take his invention of alcohol-free ale. He still couldn’t figure out where his formula had gone wrong. The Temperance Society had run him out of Parramatta when several of their ladies had got roaring drunk.

He sighed, and sucked on his cheroot. Finding this business was sheer accident. He’d come to Brisbane to escape the burden of pressing debts in Sydney Town, and had gone in search of an employment agent only to discover that no such person existed. Within days Julius had set up this office, with his desk in the centre, facing his rows of applicants, and behind him a battered Chinese screen providing privacy for hopeful employers, who were afforded better seating on a couple of dingy sofas. After that, it was only a matter of ins and outs, he explained to the publican next door, who got the pick of the staff in return for the occasional free brandy. Julius ran a couple of advertisements in the Brisbane Courier, but there was no need to continue. Word of mouth did the rest. Everyone complained about his fees, but as he pointed out, in his best bank manager voice, they were inevitable. Whatever that meant.

The clock struck eight and that damn Dulcie was banging on the door, so he shouted at her to enter, sitting back with his thumbs in his braces as an avalanche of females burst into his office, jostling for positions.

‘I’m first,’ Dulcie yelled, plonking herself in the lone interview chair in front of his desk, while the others squawked and settled as if it were dusk in a chookhouse.

‘Let me see.’ He turned the pages in his neat employers’ register. ‘You could go to the Ship Inn. They want a cook.’

‘I’m not goin’ there. That bastard would bash you soon as look at you.’

‘There’s not much else for a cook at the minute. Unless you’re prepared to go out to the bush.’

‘The hell I will. Most of them out there got two heads.’

‘Country towns aren’t so bad. I get plenty of letters from people in country towns, they’re desperate for ser … staff.’ Julius had to watch what he was saying. Talking to employers, he always referred to ‘servants’, but after ten months in this business, he knew better than to use the word in front of these women. Cooks were cooks and maids were maids, or even domestics, but they balked at being labelled servants. Too close to the word ‘servile’ for these beauties. Red rag to a bull, in fact.

‘What country towns?’

‘Toowoomba, Maryborough.’

‘Nah. I’ll stick in town awhile.’

‘I could place you as a housemaid. The Victoria Hotel.’

‘I’m not a bloody housemaid, I’m a cook. How often do I have to tell you that, Julius?’

‘All right. But there’s nothing doing at the minute. Hang on to the job you’ve got.’

‘With no pay and her entertaining all the toffs with lobsters and oysters and champagne like she’s a Russian empress?’

Julius understood. Mrs Walter Bateman, wife of Chief Inspector Bateman of Customs, was an ambitious woman, famous for her parties but also well known to staff and tradesmen as a skinflint.

‘Tell her you’ll put the bailiffs on to her,’ he murmured.

Dulcie stared. ‘Jesus. That’s ripe. I’d be out the door with a boot in me bum.’

‘What have you got to lose?’ he grinned, stroking his clipped grey moustache. ‘She’s good at sacking people when their pay is due. She’d be hard pressed to find anyone else. You could warn her.’

‘I’d like to see her face if I try that one on her.’

‘Up to you.’

Dulcie pulled a pink crocheted shawl over her shoulders and stood up. ‘Doesn’t say I’m gonna stay there, mind you. Pay or not.’

He nodded. ‘We’ll see. Who’s next?’

Before Dulcie had even vacated the chair, a thin girl confronted him. ‘You’ve got to help me, mister, I’m bleedin’ desperate …’

The governesses peered in the agent’s shopfront window, disbelieving.

‘This can’t be the place.’ Ruth backed away.

‘Yes it is. This is the address Miss Lewin gave us, and there’s the name.’

‘I am not going in there. It is obviously an establishment for servants. We can’t be seen in that company.’

‘Oh well, stay here! Perhaps there’s another office. I’ll enquire.’

Julius was interviewing a plump woman who required a position as a children’s nurse. He was nodding cheerfully as he leafed through her references. He’d have no trouble placing this one.

When the door opened, he didn’t bother to look up, but a stir in the room took his attention. A young woman with an air of authority approached his desk; a very pretty young woman, shapely too, in a neat-fitting navy-blue dress, brightened by a ribboned hat atop thick dark hair.

Taking her for a prospective employer, Julius was out of his seat in a second to escort her to his inner sanctum.

‘Are you Mr Penn?’

The voice was cultured, as sweet as the owner.

‘At your service, dear lady. Do be seated. It’s very warm today. May I offer you a glass of water?’

‘No thank you, Mr Penn. I fear I must be in the wrong place, but perhaps you can redirect me. I am Miss Tissington; my sister and I were referred to you by the Female Middle Class Emigration Society. We are the governesses you required, but we appear to have intruded upon the wrong section of your agency.’

‘Gawd!’ Julius said under his breath. He remembered that Society now. They had written to him months ago – it must be six months ago – asking if he could place highly recommended governesses in suitable positions, and he’d replied in the affirmative, flattered that his fame had spread to London. He guessed someone had sent them his advertisement. Having heard nothing more, he had forgotten all about them.

‘Dear lady, you are not in the wrong place, and I must apologise for these premises. We are only in a small way here. My head office is in Sydney.’

From women travelling interstate he’d heard that there were separate employment agencies for a better class of female, but he couldn’t afford to rent two premises. The few well-educated women who came his way seeking engagements did not warrant such extravagance, even though it would add to his prestige.

‘I see.’ Unimpressed, she handed him a neatly bound file. ‘Here is my letter of introduction from the Society, and the originals of my references. You were expecting us? Miss Lewin did write to you?’

‘Well, she may have done, Miss Tissington, but I have not heard from the Society in quite some time. It is possible that advice of your imminent arrival is still on the high seas. Or it may have accompanied you on your ship. When did you arrive?’

‘Yesterday. We were distressed that we were not met. We were given to understand that we would be met and taken immediately to our places of employment.’ Her confidence was ebbing. ‘Is no one expecting us?’

‘Not right now, but of course that’s temporary. I just need a little time to look into this, you understand.’

‘My sister is outside. Shall I ask her to come in? Or are you too busy? There are so many people waiting.’

Julius was anxious to please, and he felt sorry for her, but the people waiting meant shillings if he could separate the wheat from the chaff. ‘Tell you what, why don’t you take a stroll for a while, familiarise yourself with the town? I’m sure you’ll find Brisbane most interesting. Then I’ll meet you at twelve noon at the little café down the street, where we can talk. In quieter surroundings.’ His waiting clients were becoming restive.

‘We do not have positions to go to?’ Ruth was horrified. ‘Are you sure?’

‘No, I’m not sure. He confused me. He wasn’t expecting us.’

‘Even so, he does have positions available? He assured the Society of that. You should have insisted on knowing what they were so that we could discuss them.’

‘Why didn’t you go in yourself, if you’re so smart? At least I made contact with the agency.’

‘Such as it is,’ Ruth sniffed. ‘I’ll have something to say to Miss Lewin about this state of affairs, too. And how dare he expect us to cool our heels until midday in this heat.’

‘I doubt our heels will cool,’ said Emilie with a wry smile.

‘Don’t pun.’

‘It wasn’t a pun. We could go in search of the post office, that will fill in time.’

The morning was hot and humid. As they walked up the main street, Ruth regretted the addition of a short cape to her day dress, but she could hardly remove it and carry it through the town. Surreptitiously she dabbed with a gloved hand at beads of perspiration under her eyes, while observing the contents of shop windows. They were all well stocked with quality goods, surprising for an outpost like this, but prices were high.

‘Have you noticed that ladies here are wearing much larger hats?’ Emilie asked her. ‘Do you think we are out of fashion?’

‘No. I believe it’s more to do with the sunlight. We’d be better advised to do likewise in the future or risk sunburn.’

They found the post office, sent Ruth’s letter on its way and explored the neat grid of streets that composed the business centre, but a few blocks away from the river took them into high residential terraces, so they turned back. Taking another route downhill, they were buoyed to discover a town hall and a cathedral, and they agreed that the town held promise. They found evidence of culture: a museum, a playhouse, even an advertisement for the Brisbane Philharmonic Society. Unaccustomed to the heat, they were both tiring when they arrived at the impressive Parliament House, which was surrounded by huge trees on the banks of the river, but they still had more than an hour to fill.

‘We should go back to the boarding house and inform Mrs Medlow that we’ll probably have to stay another night,’ Ruth said.

‘Not yet. Wait until we hear something definite from that wretched Mr Penn. We might be better to take the weekly rate after all.’

‘Weekly? Surely not.’

‘We just don’t know. And the overnight rate is expensive.’

‘Not as expensive as paying for accommodation we may not need.’

In the end they proceeded to nearby public gardens, where they seated themselves disconsolately on a shaded park bench.

Penn was waiting for them when they arrived at the café, and he waved a letter as he placed them at a corner table.

‘What did I say, ladies? Here’s the advice from Miss Lewin. You might as well have delivered it yourselves. I believe I am meeting the other Miss Tissington now. A pleasure. Not often I make the acquaintance of two such charming ladies in the one day.’

Ruth was cool. Sitting stiffly in her chair, she acknowledged his greeting with a curt nod. Her references were in her handbag, rolled up and tied with cord, but she had no intention of producing them in public.

‘Now,’ he said, ‘will you have tea? Yes, tea and savoury scones, I think. Excellent here.’ He waved to the waitress and gave the order, then turned to Emilie.

‘I must say, Miss Emilie – may I call you Miss Emilie? To differentiate, you understand – your references are excellent. Quite remarkable, in fact. I see that, besides the three Rs, you teach music, piano I hope. Not a decent household in this neck of the woods lacks a piano.’

Emilie ducked her head at him to interrupt the flow. ‘Piano. Yes, we both teach piano, and singing.’

‘Quite so. And French, elocution, dancing and drawing.’

‘No, painting. My sister teaches drawing.’

‘Indeed, yes, of course. Very talented ladies.’

‘Thank you, Mr Penn,’ Ruth said. ‘But I was wondering, do you have any news for us?’

‘Not as yet, I’ve been exceeding busy this morning.’ He rambled on as the wai