8
The dusty journey from the port through the stifling heat had begun with tin-roofed shacks near the docks, graduating to rows of bungalows and, finally, to a wide street lined with gracious houses.
Alicia Hall, named after Edith’s mother-in-law, was a grand white colonial mansion, sitting on Victoria Avenue. Built to withstand the heat of the day, the house was surrounded on all sides by cool, shady verandas and terraces fenced with delicate latticework. At sunset, a chorus of insects that Kitty could not yet name produced a cacophony of sound.
Since arriving three days ago, Mrs McCrombie – or Florence, as Edith called her – had spent her time either sleeping off the arduous voyage in her room, or sitting with Edith on the veranda and catching up with each other’s lives.
Currently, the three of them were the only residents in the Hall: Mr Stefan Mercer, Edith’s husband and the master of the house, was apparently away seeing to one of his many business interests, and the couple’s two sons were also absent. Apart from breakfast, lunch and dinner – when neither sister included her in conversation beyond an initial greeting and a ‘good day’ when she left – Kitty had kept to her airy pastel-painted room on the upper floor of the house.
So far, the solitude had been no hardship. Kitty had been content to take a book from the downstairs library and read it on the terrace that led from her bedroom. But as the days continued to drag on in the same routine and Christmas approached, Kitty’s thoughts turned to home. As she wrote a letter to her family, she could almost breathe in the freezing foggy air, and see in her mind’s eye the huge Christmas tree on Princes Street, festooned with tiny lights that bobbed and danced in the breeze.
‘I miss you all,’ she whispered as she folded the notepaper in two, her eyes wet with tears.
After breakfast, she normally took a perambulation around the vast and lush garden. It was laid out in sections, with clear paths cut into the grass, some of them shaded by frames filled with wisteria. Dark green topiary bushes were perfectly pruned, as were the herbaceous borders that contained bright specimens she had never seen before – fiery pink and orange flowers, glossy green leaves, honey-scented purple blooms into which large blue butterflies dipped to drink the sweet nectar.
The boundaries of the garden were lined by huge trees with unusual ghost-white bark. Whenever she drew close to them, she smelled a gorgeously fresh herbal scent wafting on the breeze, and promised herself she’d remember to ask Edith what they were.
Yet, however beautifully maintained, Kitty was beginning to feel as if Alicia Hall was a luxury prison. Never before in her life had she been so devoid of activity; an army of servants took care of the occupants’ every need and with Australia waiting for her behind the garden walls and little to keep her busy, time began to hang heavy upon her.
As Christmas grew nearer, Kitty was walking back from the garden after her morning stroll when she saw a man appearing through the back gates. She stopped in her tracks, taking in the red dust that covered his shock of indeterminate-coloured hair, his filthy clothes and boots. Her first instinct was to dash inside and tell the servants there was an itinerant lurking on the property.
She slid behind a pillar on the veranda and watched him surreptitiously from behind it as he moved towards the servants’ entrance.
‘G’day,’ he called out, and Kitty wondered how he could see her as she was extremely well hidden. ‘I can see your shadow, whoever you are. Why are you hiding?’
She knew that the man could easily grab her as she ran across the veranda to safety, but reminded herself that she’d been in far worse situations with drunken Scotsmen on the docks. So she took a deep breath and revealed herself.
‘I wasn’t hiding. I was merely sheltering from the sun.’
‘It’s pretty strong this time of year, but nothing compared to the heat up in the north.’
‘I wouldn’t know. I’ve only just arrived.’
‘Have you indeed? From where?’
‘Scotland. Do you have business at this house?’ she demanded.
He appeared amused at the question. ‘Well, I hope I do, yes.’
‘Then I will tell Mrs Mercer that she has a visitor when she returns.’
‘Mrs Mercer isn’t at home at present?’
‘I am assured that she will return soon,’ Kitty replied, realising her mistake. ‘But there are many servants in the house.’
‘Then I shall go and speak with them about my business,’ he stated, striding towards the rear entrance that led to the kitchen. ‘Good day to you.’
After hurrying inside and climbing the stairs up to her room, then walking out onto her terrace, she saw a horse and cart clopping out of the back gates a few minutes later. Relieved that the servants must have seen him off, she collapsed onto her bed, fanning herself violently.
* * *
That evening, Kitty readied herself to go down for dinner. She still marvelled at the fact that on the other side of the world in a land of heathen natives, there was electric light and a bathtub that could be filled any day she chose. Kitty took a long refreshing dip, pinned up her hair, cursed her freckles, then walked down the elegant curved staircase. She came to an abrupt halt, for below her was the most exquisite and unexpected sight: a Christmas tree bedecked with tiny glistening ornaments that glimmered in the soft light of the chandelier overhead. The familiar scent of pine reminded her so much of Christmas Eve with her family, it brought a tear to her eye.
‘God bless you all,’ she whispered, as she continued downwards, comforting herself that this time next year, she’d be back at home. As she reached the bottom of the stairs she saw a man, dressed formally for dinner, hanging the last bauble on the tree.
‘Good evening,’ said the man, emerging from the branches.
‘Good evening.’ As she stared at him, Kitty realised there was something familiar about the timbre of his voice.
‘Do you like the tree?’ he asked, walking towards her, his arms crossed as he looked up at his handiwork.
‘It’s beautiful.’
‘It’s a present for my . . . Mrs Mercer.’
‘Is it? How kind.’
‘Yes.’
Kitty looked at him again, his dark hair gleaming under the light and . . .
‘I believe we have met already, Miss . . . ?’
‘McBride,’ Kitty managed, realising exactly who he was and why she recognised him.
‘I am Drummond Mercer, Mrs Mercer’s son. Or at least, her number two son,’ he added.
‘But . . .’
‘Yes?’
‘You . . .’
Kitty watched his eyes fill with amusement and felt her face flush with embarrassment.
‘I’m so sorry. I thought—’
‘That I was an itinerant, come to rob the house?’
‘Yes. Please do accept my apologies.’
‘And you must accept mine for not introducing myself earlier. I came overland from Alice Springs by camel, which is why I looked so . . . deshabille.’
‘You came by camel?’
‘Yes, camel. We have thousands of them here in Australia, and contrary to what people may tell you, they are the most reliable form of transport across our treacherous terrain.’
‘I see,’ said Kitty, trying to take all this in. ‘Then no wonder you looked filthy. I mean, if you’d been riding across Australia. I came here by boat, and it took me a number of weeks and . . .’ Kitty knew she was ‘wittering on’, as her father always used to say.
‘You are forgiven, Miss McBride. It is quite incredible how the dirtiest vagrant can scrub up well, is it not? I took a pony and cart when I arrived here to go and collect our tree for Mother from the docks. We have one shipped over every year from Germany and I wanted to make sure I got the pick of the crop. Last year, the needles dropped off within a day. Well now, shall we go through to the drawing room for drinks?’
Kitty pulled herself up to her full height and squared her shoulders as she took his proffered hand. ‘I’d be delighted.’
That night at dinner, with Drummond at the table, Kitty felt that the atmosphere had lightened. He teased her mercilessly over her earlier mistake, with Mrs McCrombie having to wipe the tears of laughter from her cheeks. Only Edith sat there with a look of distaste on her face at the hilarity.
Why is she so cold towards me? Kitty wondered. I have done nothing wrong . . .
‘So, Miss McBride, have you ventured into our quality little town yet?’ Drummond asked her over pudding.
‘No, but I would certainly love to as I am yet to buy Christmas tokens for your family,’ she confided to him in a whisper.
‘Well, I must go tomorrow to see to some . . . business. I can offer you a lift on the pony and cart if you wish.’
‘I would be most grateful, Mr Mercer. Thank you.’
After their unfortunate initial meeting, Kitty had to admit that Drummond had proved to be delightful company. He had an easy-going way about him and a lack of formality that Kitty found hugely appealing. He was also quite the most handsome man she had ever laid eyes on, what with his height and broad shoulders, bright blue eyes and thick, wavy dark hair. Not that that was relevant, of course, Kitty thought as she slipped into bed later. He’d hardly be looking at her – the daughter of a poor clergyman and strewn with hundreds of freckles. Besides, the thought of any man coming anywhere near her made her shudder. When it came to physical intimacy, all she could think of presently was the hypocrisy of her father.
* * *
Drummond handed her up onto the cart the next morning and Kitty settled herself next to him.
‘Ready?’ he asked.
‘Yes,’ she replied. ‘Thank you.’
The horse clopped out of the gates and along the wide avenue. Kitty breathed in the glorious smell that she couldn’t quite place.
‘What is that scent?’ she asked him.
‘Eucalyptus trees. Koalas love them. My grandmother tells me that when they built Alicia Hall in 1860 there were a number of koala families living in the trees.’
‘Goodness! I have only ever read about them in books.’
‘They look very much like living, breathing teddy bears. If I see one, I’ll show you. And if you hear a strange bellow at night that sounds akin to something between a snore and a growl, you’ll know there’s a male koala in the grounds foraging for leaves or on the prowl for a mate.’
‘I see.’ Kitty was slowly getting used to Drummond’s odd accent – it was a mixture of German intonation and the odd soft Scottish burr on a word, all mixed in with an occasional Australian expression for good measure. The sun was burning down on her, and she pulled her bonnet lower to shield her face.
‘Struggling with the temperature, are you?’
‘A little, yes,’ she admitted, ‘and the sun burns my skin in an instant.’
‘It will toughen up soon enough, and I must say you have the most adorable freckles.’
She shot Drummond a glance to see if he was making fun of her again, but his expression was steady as he concentrated on steering the horse down the increasingly busy road. Kitty sat quietly as they entered the town, noticing that the streets were far wider than in Edinburgh, and the buildings sturdy and elegant. Well-dressed residents were strolling along the paths, the women holding parasols to ward off the sun’s strong rays.
‘So, what do you make of Adelaide so far?’ Drummond asked her.
‘I haven’t seen enough of it to judge.’
‘Something tells me you keep your thoughts to yourself, Miss McBride. Is that true?’
‘Mostly. Simply because I doubt other people would be interested in them.’
‘Some of us would,’ he offered. ‘Quite the enigma, aren’t you?’
Again, Kitty did not reply, unsure whether it was a compliment or an insult.
‘I went to Germany once,’ he said, breaking another silence. ‘So far, it’s my only trip to Europe. I found it cold, dark and rather dull. Australia may have its problems, but at least the sun shines here and everything about it is dramatic. Can you cope with a little drama, Miss McBride?’
‘Perhaps,’ she replied neutrally.
‘Then you will do well in Australia, because it isn’t for the faint-hearted. Or at least, outside the city boundaries it isn’t,’ he added as he pulled the pony and cart to a halt. ‘This is King William Street.’ He indicated a street lined with shops, their frontages painted in bright colours, with gleaming signs advertising their wares. ‘It’s as civilised as it gets. I will drop you here on Beehive Corner, and collect you in two hours at one o’clock prompt. Does that suit you?’
‘It suits me very well, thank you.’
Drummond dismounted from the cart and offered Kitty his hand to help her down. ‘Now, go and do what you ladies seem to enjoy best, and if you’re a good girl, I’ll take you off to see Father Christmas on Rundle Street later. G’day.’ Drummond winked at her as he climbed back onto the cart.
Kitty stood there in the dusty street watching the carriages, the horse-drawn carts and the ponies which bore men with wide-brimmed hats. Looking up, she saw what Drummond had referred to as ‘Beehive Corner’ – a beautiful red and white building with arches and finials, topped off with a delicately painted bee. Confident she would find it again, she walked along the street, peering through the windows. Now perspiring profusely in the heat, she came across a haberdashery shop and entered to peruse the surprisingly large selection of ribbons and laces on offer. It was, if that was possible, even hotter inside the shop than out. Feeling the sweat dripping down the back of her neck, she bought a yard of lace for both Mrs McCrombie and Mrs Mercer, and some white cotton fabric for the men, thinking that she could fashion it into handkerchiefs and stitch Scottish thistles into the corners.
She paid and left the oppressive fug of the shop before she disgraced herself and fainted right then and there. Hurrying along the road, desperately in search of shelter from the sun and a cooling glass of water, she staggered onwards until she spied a sign in the distance: The Edinburgh Castle Hotel.
She burst through the doors into a crowded, smoky room with enormous fans stirring the air above her head. Pushing her way through to the bar and hardly noticing that the entire room had gone silent at her presence, she sank onto a stool and mouthed, ‘Water, please,’ to a barmaid, whose bodice seemed fittingly low-cut for the intense heat. The girl nodded and scooped some water from a barrel into a mug. Kitty grabbed it and drank the lot down, then asked for another. Once that was drained and her senses began to return to her, she raised her head and looked up to find forty or so pairs of male eyes studying her.
‘Thank you,’ she said to the barmaid. And, gathering her dignity, she stood up and began to walk towards the door.
‘Miss McBride!’ An arm caught hers just as her hand reached for the brass doorknob. ‘What a coincidence to see you here.’
She looked up into the amused eyes of Drummond Mercer and felt the heat rising once again to her cheeks.
‘I was thirsty,’ she replied defensively. ‘It’s very hot out there.’
‘Yes, it is. In retrospect, I should never have left you alone on the street, being a newcomer to these climes.’
‘I am perfectly fine now, thank you.’
‘Then I am glad. Is your shopping complete?’
‘Complete as it will ever be. How anyone can shop in this heat, I really don’t know,’ she said, fanning herself.
‘A wee measure o’ whisky for you, miss?’ said a voice from behind her.
‘I . . .’
‘Medicinal purposes only,’ Drummond reassured her. ‘I’ll keep her company, Lachlan,’ he added as they threaded their way back to the bar. ‘And by the way, this young lady hails from Edinburgh.’
‘Then any dram the lassie wants is on the house. ’Tis a shock when you first arrive here, miss,’ the man continued as he slid behind the counter and opened a bottle. ‘Aye, I remember that first week when I believed I’d arrived in hell. An’ dreamt o’ the foggy, bitter nights back home. There, get that down yae and we’ll toast to the old country.’
Even though she had never partaken of alcohol, having watched Mrs McCrombie knock back huge whiskies night after night on board the Orient, Kitty assured herself that one small glass wouldn’t harm her.
‘To the homeland,’ Lachlan toasted.
‘To the homeland,’ Kitty replied. As the two men threw the golden liquid back in one, she took a small sip of her own and swallowed. It trickled down her throat, burning her tender insides. The assembled company were watching her with interest, and feeling the whisky settle quite nicely in her stomach, she tipped the glass back and drained it. Then, as her new companions had done, she slammed it down on the bar.
‘Aye, a true Scots lass.’ Lachlan gave her a mock bow, and the onlookers cheered and clapped appreciatively. ‘Another dram for us all!’
‘Well, well,’ said Drummond, as he handed her a fresh glass, ‘most impressive, Miss McBride. We might make an Aussie of you yet.’
‘I am no coward, Mr Mercer, you should know that now,’ Kitty said as she tipped the second whisky down her throat, then sat down abruptly on her stool, feeling far better than she had a few minutes earlier.
‘I can see that, Miss McBride.’ Drummond nodded sagely.
‘Now, how about a chorus of “Over the Sea to Skye” for the bonnie wee lass who’s homesick for our land,’ cried Lachlan.
The entire bar burst into song, and really, Kitty thought, having spent her life as part of a quavery female church choir, there were some quite tuneful male voices. After that, she accepted another dram of whisky and joined in with a rousing chorus of ‘Loch Lomond’. She was led to a table, and sat down with Drummond and Lachlan.
‘So, where did you live, missy?’
‘Leith.’
‘Aye!’ Lachlan banged the table and poured himself another whisky from the bottle. ‘I was born in the south. The commoners’ parts, o’ course. But enough of the old country, let’s see more of that famous Scottish bravery then!’ He poured another dram into Kitty’s glass and raised an eyebrow at her.
Without a word of retort, she lifted the glass to her mouth and drained it, her eyes fixed on Drummond’s.
An hour later, having demonstrated various Scottish dances with Lachlan to cheers from the onlookers, Kitty was just about to drain another dram when Drummond covered it with his hand. ‘Enough now, Miss McBride. I think it’s time we took you home.’
‘But . . . my friends . . .’
‘I promise I will bring you back here another day, but we really must return home, or Mother may think I’ve abducted you.’
‘Aye, if I were a few years younger,’ Lachlan chimed in, ‘I’d be doing the same myself. Our Kitty is a beauty, she is. And don’t yae worry, wee lassie. Ye’ll do very well here in Australia.’
As Kitty tried but failed to stand, Drummond hauled her upright. Lachlan planted affectionate kisses on both her cheeks. ‘Merry Christmas! And just remember, if ye’re ever in any trouble, Lachlan’s always at your service.’
Kitty did not remember much of the walk to the horse and cart, although she most certainly remembered the feeling of Drummond’s arm supporting her about her waist. After that, she must have fallen asleep, for the next thing she knew, she was in his arms being carried through the entrance to Alicia Hall, up the stairs and lowered gently onto her bed.
‘Thank you kindly,’ she murmured, then hiccuped. ‘You’re a very kind man.’