19. Amelia
19
AMELIA
WALHALLA, 1900
GARNET: Encourages calm in a crisis, relieves stress
E very mine, hotel and store are closed for the day while the town gathers for festivities for the Prince of Wales’s birthday. We’re late for the church service, and there’s no seat to spare, so we stand at the back. Thomas tried in vain to hurry Alice along, but dismissed any thought of admonishing our spirited daughter, who trailed off the path picking bluebells and then danced all the way with her head in the clouds, as ever. She is finally still beside us.
My stomach tumbles as I scan the congregation and see the Carrick family seated in the front pew. Jago’s finely cut indigo coat stretches across his broad shoulders while a damson-coloured bonnet complements Mariah’s milky-white complexion. And there is their son. She lifts him to her lap and raven-coloured hair flops in waves from under his cap. There’s no mistaking his father in his profile. I squeeze Alice’s hand all the more tightly. When the congregation stand for hymns and she drags at my arm asking to use the privy, I whisper our excuses, and escape, breathing a sigh of relief.
For months I have taken pains to avoid them. Thomas is struggling in the change of seasons, and his lungs are heavy with dust following days and nights labouring with a pickaxe. My attention is focused on restoring his good health.
He is, however, full of news of Jago , informing me that the new manager is a popular leader, both honest and just. With a disapproving toss of his head, he insists Long Tunnel runs more efficiently when Jago is in charge and complains that the company directors expect his reports and presence far too frequently in Melbourne . I relish the news of his absences.
Mariah has certainly risen above the station she was born to. I am not likely to cross her path while going about my duties, not when she has maids to do her bidding. Nor are the likes of we Treloars deemed fine enough to associate with her circle. Despite the stories of class structures broken down in this new land, it seems when those of disproportionate standing converge, we fall back into age-old hierarchies.
The church bells sound again before Alice deigns to return. Of late, the child has taken to speaking to an imaginary friend, and today’s conversation is so animated I almost join in. Apparently , Caroline is rather bossy and wears her red hair in a plait down her back. Thomas laughs and insists we set a place for her at our table, amused at the extent of our daughter’s imagination. I hold my tongue. I expect Alice is able to speak to the spirits but would prefer it was not the case.
I feel naught but love for my beautiful daughter and do all in my power to keep her safe from otherworldly elements. We Cornish believe the nasty spriggans are more trouble than mischievous piskies, who simply tease or play tricks. Spriggans are known to speak to mortal children and lure them away from their mothers. I have taken the precaution of nailing horseshoes on the lintels over our doorways to deter them. I dare not risk losing Alice to the fey.
Soon the concert will begin. The Mountaineers Brass Band are performing in the rotunda in the centre of the town, with Thomas set to play a solo. For the first time, they will wear their smart serge uniforms, with two rows of brass buttons on the breast of the jackets, and a red stripe along the outer trouser seams. It was a trial to sew neat stitches by candlelight, but the result is proper good. Thomas will cut a fine form on stage.
I have prepared a picnic to enjoy during the performance. I take a deep breath to steady myself, preparing to face the town’s people and the day ahead. And Jago . I expect Mariah will be eager to avoid my company.
Alice gathers flowers for her daisy chain and waits for a bee to relinquish its position on the bloom. A little frown furrows her forehead. She is a delight to watch, so intent on her task. I move to follow her and the child I carry inside me twists and gives a kick, reminding me of his presence too.
Thomas was overjoyed to hear of our good fortune and expects a son, yet the thought vexes me. I expect it natural for a man to want a son to carry his name, but when he shared his preference, I cursed under my breath with irritation. A daughter is equally important, and often kinder towards her family, or so I believe. I held my tongue and said nothing in reply. Sometimes it’s best to merely smile and nod, in the manner a good wife ought.
We make our way to the picnic ground at midday. Thomas waves from the podium when he sees us, smiling with his cornet tucked under his arm. My husband is finely turned out; the band’s regal uniforms suit the tone of the day. Blankets and chairs are spread across the lawn before the rotunda, and people set out their picnics around us, unpacking hampers and baked treats and sharing glasses of homemade lemonade. Alice joins Ivy and Ned’s children, and my gaze follows her as she chases them, playing tiggy-touch-wood in and about the trees on the reserve while butterflies and dragonflies dance in the breeze. Alice and fair-headed Mae hold hands, the two like day and night to look at, but as close as sisters.
I rest against a tree trunk and take a moment to close my eyes in its shade, enjoying a day of leisure. My child, who kicks and bucks and keeps me awake at night, is blissfully resting too. ’ Tis a rare moment when I am granted peace.
‘ Mrs Treloar , how enchanting to make your acquaintance.’
Jago Carrick stands before me and my heart leaps at the sight of him. I flounder to sit up and curl a hand on my stomach, my condition immediately apparent.
‘ I’m delighted to find you well. Indeed …blooming.’ His voice has an edge I don’t recall. I gasp at the harshness in his tone.
‘ I did not expect to meet you here, Mr Carrick? —’
‘ Nor I you. Walhalla is the last place I would choose, had I known whom I would encounter. However , you may well recall, I do as my employer bids…’
I’m at quite the disadvantage on the ground at his feet. I would run and hide if I were able.
‘ I assure you, madam, Cornwall is ever my preference. No doubt you too share fond memories of our homeland.’
His handsome face has grown harder, the soft lips and bright eyes of my dreams appear lifeless and dull in person. What has made him this way? Surely Mariah , with her pretty face and fashionable gowns, has not failed to be an attentive and loving wife?
‘ Are you quite well, sir?’ My voice is thin and weak. I am cautious of what I am free to say to him within earshot of others. I know what I would say to him alone.
My hands itch to tousle the soft curl at the base of his neck, to feel his lips on mine. Heat rises on my face and I fan it with my best handkerchief, an extravagance of embroidered white linen.
‘ If you mean in body, then yes, I am indeed. Alas , despite your conscientious care, I still walk with a limp. I will always be in your debt for saving my life, Amelia .’ The way he whispers my name slices through my heart.
He lifts his head in the proud manner I recognise, and his eyes shine like the sea at Perran’s Cove on a summer’s day. I lower my gaze.
‘ And who is this fine young lady?’
I look up to see Alice beside me. She is staring at Jago with a question in the wrinkling of her nose.
‘ My daughter. Alice , please say hello to Mr Carrick .’
‘ Good day, Mr Carrick .’ She grins a gummy smile.
‘ My goodness she is a beauty. You are your mother’s likeness, I see. Indeed , the image of her. And what age are you, Alice ?’
She holds up a hand with her five fingers splayed. My stomach stretches tight and a kick catches me under my ribs. The baby settles into a new position.
‘ Five ? What a delight you are.’ Jago’s regard flickers from Alice to me and back again, a frown between his brows. ‘ I had no idea when?—’
‘ She was not there—’ I feel his distress and look away, praying he’ll leave us. Now is not the time. Nor ever will be.
‘ May I have a bun please, Mama ?’ Alice interrupts. On her knees beside me, she searches the basket for food.
‘ She has an appetite today. I am unable to fill her.’ I look past Jago and grimace as I notice Mariah in the distance.
‘ I have a son, a little younger. He too has a fine appetite.’
I nod politely, turning to attend to Alice . A feeling much like the seasickness I’d experienced on the ship swirls inside me.
‘ I will leave you both to your picnic. Good day, Mrs Treloar … Miss Alice .’
I risk a glance at his face although I know it will be my undoing. He tips his hat, and I see my reflection mirrored in his eyes; I am warmed by his gaze. His beautiful mouth twitches in the way I love, and although his face strains with reserve, in my heart I know he loves me still. That knowledge must be kept from the querying eyes of the nosey folk of this town. If others make the connection between us, there is more to lose than my Thomas , of that I am certain.
My husband is parched when he joins me at the completion of the band’s performance, grateful for my attentions. Then , the women from the Choral League sing for our entertainment. They lead the crowd in a medley of traditional folk music, inviting the Cornish miners to sing along. Next come a trio of Italian woodcutters, dressed in the costumes of their homeland. While those gathered may not understand the words of the song, the men’s stirring rendition generates rousing applause.
Thomas lies back on a cushion beside me, and his hand reaches for mine. He kisses my fingers and smiles. I relax and enjoy the gaiety around us.
‘ I be some fortunate man, Amelia Treloar . Thee are everything to me.’
‘ Oh , Thomas !’ I reply, embarrassed by his public display of affection. ‘ Hush now.’ I do not deserve this man. He is steady and strong, like his faith in me.
‘ It be naught but truth. And soon another child we will have. Proper family we will be.’
We are indeed fortunate. We have a home, our health and each other.
Our conversation is broken by a child’s cry in the distance. I immediately hear ’tis Alice , and struggle to my feet, moving as quickly as my girth allows. I rush towards her and find her crouched beneath a tree. A boy in breeches is standing over her, and a few young tackers crowd around them. Then to my horror, he takes the stick in his hands and raises it, then repeatedly beats Alice on the back.
‘ Ride -on, horsey, ride-on!’ He persists his whipping, ignoring Alice’s cries. ‘ Giddy -up!’
‘ Stop ! Stop this now. Put that down at once!’ I grab the boy and snatch the switch from his hands, then throw it to the ground. I notice the shiny buckles on his fine leather shoes.
‘ Yeouw ! You cut me!’ His voice rises indignantly, and eyes like a winter sea stare back at me. Then he howls like a wolf cub in danger and draws more attention than Punch and Judy at a fairground.
Ignoring his cries, I tend to Alice , noting the hole in her tights and scratches on her leg. I cradle her in my arms and hug her close.
‘ Lionel ! Lionel , my darling boy! Whatever has happened?’
At the sound of Mariah’s voice, I freeze. The child holds up a hand: a tiny scratch on his palm seeps a minute dot of crimson. He is the dead spit of his father.
Tears glaze my vision. One hand frames my stomach protectively and the other holds Alice to my side to stop me shaking. The two children glare and pull faces at each other like enemies locked in battle, and Mariah looks from one to the other with a questioning scowl.
‘ Your daughter? How dare she lay a hand on my son!’ Mariah steps closer, sloe-eyes flashing with anger and hatred. ‘ Look what she has done to him. Take the brat from my sight before I punish her myself!’
I straighten to face her. The metallic taste of blood lines my mouth— I have bitten my tongue in an effort to hold it. Alice sobs into my skirts and rubs the back of her head. Sweet Mae hovers close by devotedly, with eyes like orbs. She reaches for Alice’s hand.
‘ He hit me so hard, Mama …and on the head too…wouldn’t…stop….’ Alice snivels. I try to console her.
‘ She no doubt provoked him.’ Mariah’s voice is raised. Her stance looms straight and menacing. ‘ Keep her away from my son.’
A number of women are drawn towards the commotion, as the echo of ugly voices mar the stillness of the warm afternoon. Thomas is on his feet, holding a hand to shade the sun. Jago stares as well, turning from his discussion with a group of miners.
Mariah’s face is puce with fury. I grit my teeth as the women fawn over her, ever conscious of remaining in her good graces. Then they turn to Lionel and fuss and preen over him like he’s a prince.
With a sobbing Alice lifted to my hip, I make an effort to stride away from them. I hold my head high, struggling with her weight resting on my protruding stomach. We are climbing the Right - Hand Branch before Thomas reaches us. I am still shaking and struggle to catch my breath. My heart beats faster than ever.
What cruelty, to have Jago’s son here. And for Mariah to understand the truth of my failings will ever spell disaster.