Virtue of a Governess (6 page)

The crowd had thinned and other members of the group were packing away their table and literature.

“Are you interested in rights for women, for the poor, for the children?” Frances asked, while together they collected the scattered papers from the gutter.

“Um…I suppose I am.” Nicola smiled and waited as Frances passed the pamphlets to another younger girl, who placed them in a box.

“We need more members.” Frances grabbed her satchel from under the table and hooked it over her shoulder. “Want to join us?”

“I’m not sure…”

“Well, have a think about it. We meet each week. The address is on the back of that pamphlet I gave you. We want the movement to grow here in Australia. The “Unfortunates” of this world need more voices, raised voices!”

“I didn’t even know such movements were active here, the population is so small.”

Frances nodded. Her dark hair was cut so short it hardly moved. “That’s why we need more rallys like this one today. We must spread the word. We may not have the amount of people as England but we still share the same problems. Injustice!”

An older woman, her face stiff with concern, drew up beside them. “There’s a problem, Frances. We can’t use the George Street rooms anymore. Mr Haversham refuses to let us use them after last week’s debacle. I’m off to seek out another venue. Any ideas?”

Frances sighed and pushed her hand through her short hair making it stand on end. “We could always use my room if there’s no alternative. It’s small and the landlady might not like so many people in there, but keep it in mind as a last resort.”

The woman lightly placed her hand on Frances’s shoulder for a moment. “Thank you.”

“I’m sorry, Beatrice, it’s not enough I know.” Frances’s frowned. “I’ll talk to my brother. His current rooms aren’t to his taste and he’s thinking of renting out a house until he builds his own establishment in the country. I might be able to persuade him to let us meet there.”

Laughing sarcastically, Beatrice grimaced. “Your brother would rather a herd of elephants marched through his rooms before letting us near him.”

Frances scowled. “Yes well, I’m working on him. I think he’s softening.”

Beatrice looked at Nicola and held out her hand. “I’m Mrs Delaney.”

Nicola smiled. “Nicola Douglas.”

“I hope to see you at another rally, Miss Douglas.” With that she was gone, busily tidying up and giving orders to the group of women who stood by the boxes and table.

Frances grinned. “Beatrice believes that every woman is with us. Even those who say they aren’t she thinks are simply in denial.”

Nicola watched the older woman efficiently organise the volunteers. “Perhaps she is right.”

“Lord, I need a drink.”

Nicola blinked in shock.

Frances chuckled and, finding her other larger bag, she pulled out a skirt and wrapped it around her. “No, not that type of drink.” She clipped the skirt into place and resembled a woman again. “Fancy a cup of coffee? I’m as dry as a rock in summer.”

Relieved it was only coffee she wanted, Nicola nodded and fell into step with the unique woman. They crossed the street and then turned the corner. Frances led the way, obviously knowing where to go. She paused in front of a narrow, run-down shop and then pushed open the door. Inside, the long room held a number of small wooden tables and chairs and at the back, a man stood at the counter reading a small book.

“Good day, Pierre.”

The man smiled and waved before disappearing into a backroom.

Frances ushered Nicola into a chair by the window. “Pierre will bring us a pot of coffee and some of his delicious pastry. He fled France owing money to his creditors but he’s such a nice man and better still, a delightful cook.”

Amazed, Nicola gazed around the drab room, bare of all ornaments and colour. A young man with a hound dog face scribbled on paper and didn’t look up. Beyond him sat a couple holding hands. The man looked relaxed, the woman seemed nervous. “I’d never imagine this was a tea room.”

“Well, it’s not really. It’s a gathering place for people out of work, poor artists, rebellious politicians, unionists, adulterers, and any other clandestine meetings. Pierre feeds them, demands little money and asks no questions.”

Nicola listened with rapt attention and knew she led a closeted life, considering. Her father had been a middle class boys’ tutor. Her mother brought a small annuity to her marriage so they’d lived comfortably, if not extravagantly. Her parents had shielded the worst of life from her, although her mother encouraged her to do good work for the poor. Her father had educated her as he would a boy, giving her balance between the two worlds. Yet, she had felt adrift in her world, not knowing exactly who she was or what to do. She was neither working class nor middle class, but somewhere in between and this uncertainty only increased when fate came and claimed her parents. She had no one and nothing left. Then she saw the advertisement to be a governess in the far reaches of England’s empire…Australia, and Miss Rye’s speech did the rest.

“Were you born here?” Frances asked as Pierre, curiously dressed in white trousers and shirt, placed a tray on the table. He gave them a stiff bow and without speaking left them.

“No. I’ve only been in this country a short time.” Nicola accepted the coffee that Frances poured for her. The tray held a plate of delicate pastries and she took one, suddenly feeling very hungry. The tart, filled with apple and cream, sticky and sweet, melted in her mouth. “This is good.”

Frances winked. “I told you. But don’t let it become common knowledge or Pierre will have a seizure. He likes to keep it all on the quiet lest his past catches up with him.”

Nodding, Nicola smiled and took another bite. “What about you? Have you always lived here?”

“Lord, no. I escaped England and my parents last year and followed my brother here, much to his surprise.”

“Escaped?” Fascinated, Nicola stared at her.

“Yes, escaped. Sounds tragic, doesn’t it? I escaped my parents’ noose-like hold on me and I escaped their wealth, which trapped me much more securely than poverty ever could.” Frances sipped her black coffee. “My parents insisted I marry some son of a political friend that would further my father’s interests in the government. I refused and my life became hell. You see, my parents didn’t like their children much and saw us as pawns to be used in games of wealth and power. I’d watched the way they used my oldest brother for advancement by making him marry a rich heiress. They wanted my second brother, Nat, to do the same, but he denied them the chance by purposely ruining his reputation. In the end they shunned him and he became bitter.”

“How sad.”

“Yes.” A wistful expression flittered across her face. “I love my brother but my parents have done lasting damage to him. They treated him like something foul they’d trodden in. He changed from the laughing carefree brother I knew to a cynical sour man. When he left home, vowing to never return, I knew that my life would alter and that my parents would use me as their next project to gain more wealth and recognition. I couldn’t let that happen. My brother wrote to me, thank God. And as soon as I could, I joined him here.”

“And now you’re free.”

“And now I’m poor!” Frances laughed and played with her teaspoon. “Nat has done well and keeps me alive but I hate asking him for anything. My family has a history of taking and not giving. I refuse to act the same. However, he gives me an allowance and I use it to help the poor. I wanted to work but he wouldn’t let me. So I do charity work instead.”

“And the rights campaign?”

“That’s something I do in my spare time, when I can. I’m passionate about it, but feeding the starving is more important at this present time. Anyway, enough about me.” She shook her head. “I’ve not talked so much about myself in my life. You must have a way with you.”

Nicola paused from taking a sip of coffee and thought about it. “Actually, you could be right. People have always talked to me; my parents, my father’s pupils, the neighbours. I’m happy to listen.”

“So tell me about yourself.”

“Not much to say. I’m a governess looking for work.”

Frances scowled. “Another governess. There is barely enough work for the ones already here, do you know that?”

“Yes. I do now.” Sighing, Nicola glanced down at her small plate and its scattering of crumbs. “Most positions advertised have a hundred or more women applying for them.”

“I see a lot of women in dire trouble at the soup kitchen. Too many come out here thinking they have permanent employment, only to find they have nothing and no one.” Frances drained her coffee and from her pocket pulled out a small watch on a chain. “I’ve got to go.”

“Yes, of course. I too have been out longer than expected.” Nicola rose and fished in her purse for coins.

“No, leave that. Pierre and I have an agreement.” She laughed. “No, not that kind of agreement.” She turned and waved to Pierre and nodded to the other customers.

Outside in the street, Frances hesitated and a quizzical expression flitted across her face. “I think you’re a decent sort. Perhaps we can meet again?”

Nicola smiled at her honesty. “I’d like that.”

“You mentioned you did poor work back home?”

“Yes.”

“Want to work at a soup kitchen tomorrow?” She raised her eyebrows as though daring her.

“Of course.” She didn’t hesitate.

“I’ll meet you on Lower George Street at ten o’clock. There’s an alley running from it down to the harbour. I’ll wait for you there.”

Nicola lifted her navy skirts high off the ground. A man leaning against a wall across the street whistled at the showing of ankle, but she ignored him and stepped over a puddle. Rain during the night had done little to wash away the grime from this area of the town. A stench from an unknown source made her want to cover her nose, but she hadn’t a free hand. Clutching her skirts she tried her best to keep them clean, although a glance at the dirty hem showed this was a forlorn hope.

“There you are.” Frances exited the entrance to an alley and greeted her with a grin. “I didn’t think you’d come.”

Nicola frowned. “Why ever not? I said I would.”

“Yes, well many people say things they later regret.” Frances shrugged and slipped her hands into her drab skirt pockets. “Anyhow, come along, we’ve got hungry people to feed.”

The dull grey day cast the alley into gloom. Noise and clamour from the harbour, docks and warehouses vibrated along the walls. Seagulls cried as they wheeled over the buildings. Further down the alley, people gathered in a straggly line; old men, women with babies on their hips and children peeking from behind their skirts. All wore the same doleful expression. The sunken eyes watched without interest as Frances escorted Nicola through the large double doors and inside an old disused warehouse. It took her a moment for Nicola’s eyes to adjust to the dimness of the building. The only light came from the open vents high up in the walls. She guessed that over thirty people sat at the rows of planks that served as tables. Low chatter filled the room mixing with the shuffling of feet and the scraping of spoons.

“Right. You can serve beside me today.” Frances, her sleeves already rolled back, guided Nicola behind the long serving tables where two large pots of stew sat beside trays of bread chunks and stacks of bowls.

Nicola tied on the grey apron Frances provided while an older woman joined them. “This is Mrs Lawson. She helps me to run this soup kitchen. Her son owns a bakery and from him we buy the two-day-old bread.”

Nicola didn’t have time to do anything but smile and say good morning to Mrs Lawson as Frances gave her a ladle and pointed to the pot full of a watery vegetable stew. “Fill each bowl as I send them along.”

Nodding, she took a deep breath and looked up at the first person to step before her.

Over an hour later, when the human line had finally stopped coming through the doors, Nicola helped Frances and Mrs Lawson to clear away. “How many times do you do this?”

“Three times a week.” Frances heaved a long bench to one side to sweep under it. “I’d like to provide it once a day, but funds are limited.”

“How many patrons do you have?”

“None. I pay for it myself, courtesy of my brother. Mrs Lawson supplies her time, which is wonderful because I couldn’t do it alone, but I have no wealthy gents passing me copious amounts of money to buy what I need. Though it isn’t for the want of trying.”

“What about your brother. Can he not persuade his friends and acquaintances?”

Frances shook her head. “No, he won’t consider it and he ignores my begging. Besides, he already helps me with another project of mine and that’s funding a small private orphanage in Parramatta. He says he is in this country to amass a fortune not spend one on other people’s brats.” She sighed. “He can be rather cold at times, but thankfully I know the real man beneath, otherwise I’d have nothing to do with him. He has no idea that the money he gives me to live on actually goes to others. He’d be horrified if he did.”

Nicola stopped her scrubbing of a table and stared, amazed by this woman’s selflessness and commitment. “Heavens, Frances. You are exceptional.”

“Nonsense. I do what I can, because I can, and I like helping others less fortunate.”

Mrs Lawson waved to them as she walked towards the doors. “I’m off home now, ladies. Nice to have met you, Miss Douglas.”

“And I you, Mrs Lawson.” Nicola smiled.

Frances waved and called out her goodbyes before turning back to Nicola. “I want to thank you for coming here today, Nicola.”

“I enjoyed being of use.” She rinsed out her cloth in the bucket of cold soapy water. “Sitting around at the lodgings with nothing to do is tiresome. When I returned home yesterday after leaving you, I found a letter for me in reply to one of the advertisements I’d answered. The position had been filled before my letter even arrived on their doorstep.”

Frances swept her way towards the doors. “I know it must be difficult for you. I am sorry. Although…” Frances turned to grin at her. “While you aren’t engaged in a position, perhaps I can claim your services here?”

Nicola couldn’t help but laugh, realising she would enjoy being useful. “I don’t see why not.”

Suddenly a man stood in the doorway. He was dressed splendidly in a long black woollen coat with knee length black boots that gleamed even in the muted light of the large room.

Laughter left Nicola as though she’d been dunked in a tub of ice water. Her stomach clenched as Nathaniel West gazed at her. His violet eyes narrowed on recognition, but his expression gave nothing away however, as Frances greeted him.