The Cedar Cutter (12 page)

‘Roisin.' Elsie's eager tone roused her.

She shook her head and straightened her skirt. Such maudlin thoughts. Maybe it was a customer coming to order a ball gown. The idea made her laugh aloud. Who in Wollombi would ever need a ball gown?

‘I have a letter for you.'

Almost as good as a ball gown. She threw open the door.

‘Mr Sullivan picked it up for you in Morpeth when he went for the mail.'

‘Oh, Elsie, thank you.' She took the envelope and turned it over, her heart lifting as she saw the familiar handwriting. ‘It's from my aunt in Sydney.'

A flicker of confusion crossed Elsie's face. ‘I thought you said you had no family.'

‘She's not my real aunt. A friend of my mother's.' That was a foolish slip. She'd have to be more careful. ‘Thank you so much for delivering it. I shall make a cup of tea and go and read it in the sunshine.'

‘Suppose I better be getting back to my work, then. Can't be hanging around here all day.' Obviously the prospect of sharing news, good or bad, had brightened her day and she felt owed since Mr Sullivan had picked up the letter and she'd delivered it with her own hand.

‘Thank you, Elsie and please thank Mr Sullivan, it'll be lovely to get news of home.'

‘Thought this was home.'

‘Of course it's home now, Elsie.' Aunt Lil must have known she was missing her and written, just as she'd been framing a letter herself. She ran her finger under the seal and the single piece of paper fell out of the envelope before she was back through the front door.

Sinking down at the table, she unfolded the paper and immediately inhaled the exotic waft of perfume that took her back to the house in Sydney.

My dear Roisin,

Forgive my earlier silence. I thought it would be better to wait. I have good news. The gentleman in question did call on several occasions and was disappointed to discover you were no longer in Sydney.

Disappointed, that was an understatement. She could imagine him thumping through Aunt Lil's rooms, questioning the girls and generally being aggressive and obnoxious. There was little he could do. He couldn't prove Ruan was his child. It was only that first chance meeting on the street that had sparked his curiosity. He'd known instantly. She'd seen it in his eyes, but he couldn't prove it no matter how much he dogged her footsteps and made her life a misery. It could never be more than his word against hers, although his word would undoubtedly carry more weight, bearing in mind his associations in the colony. Why would he want to acknowledge a bastard child?

We were pleased to discover he was married and so I feel that his interest in Ruan was nothing but a passing fancy. However, do not allow yourself to be lulled into a false sense of security. Plan as we always have to remain in Wollombi and hopefully the time will come when we can put all of this behind us and welcome your return.

Perhaps his wife had absorbed his interest. Maybe she was with child and he had no inclination to seek out Ruan. She folded the letter and pushed it deep into her pocket. Aunt Lil's words had set her mind at rest and she couldn't wait to read the rest and respond. If only she had some better news about business. Patience, she schooled herself. Patience.

For the next few days Roisin buried herself in her work, determined to have some samples available if any customers ever turned up. The parlour at the front of the house was all arranged and a fire burned in the grate. Her materials, ribbons, lace and cottons were stored in her trunk, and scissors, needles and silks tidily arranged and close at hand.

The knock on the door took her by surprise. She put down her sewing and peered through the window. A man dressed in a long black frock coat and a stern expression stood on the doorstep.

‘Mrs Ogilvie?' His face showed no movement, no sign of a smile. A cold, hard lump settled in her stomach. Who was he? He seemed so officious, a little scary. Rather as she'd imagined Father Benson, except he was round, red-faced and smiling. This man was the exact opposite. Surely Aunt Lil's cheerful message wasn't going to be slapped away so quickly. She wanted more time to bask in the warm glow of success and the knowledge that leaving Sydney had been the right thing to do.

‘My name is Blackmore, madam, Mr Blackmore. I'm the schoolmaster. You may have heard of me.'

Oh yes, she had. She let out a breath of relief and then gasped. Was he going to try to make her send Ruan to school? He couldn't do that. She'd kept up his lessons. She wasn't ready to let him go just yet. Despite Aunt Lil's assurances, she still needed to know he was close. And besides, she hadn't enough money to throw away on tuition. At six Ruan was too young for school.

‘I think you should consider sending your boy to school.'

She squared her shoulders, ready to do battle. ‘I teach Ruan myself. His education is not lacking.' Ruan lacked for nothing. Ruan was young but he was in no way behind with his letters and numbers. At least not at present, but he would be if she continued to let him spend the days down by the brook hunting for treasures. She was proud that everyone had so much time for him and thought him older than his age. He'd grown taller in the last month, was quick-witted and spoke well, so many people thought him eight or nine.

‘No, madam his education is not lacking, of that I'm certain. You've done a remarkable job. I was lucky enough to bump into him down at the brook the other afternoon and I had a little chat with him.'

Ruan had said nothing about a chat. Why didn't she know? Perhaps she'd been neglecting him. ‘Ruan! Come here, please.'

She ushered Mr Blackmore into the parlour. ‘Please come and sit down.' She indicated the single chair in front of the fire.

‘Madam, there is nowhere for you to sit. I couldn't.'

‘Please, Mr Blackmore I'm quite content sitting here.' She perched on the edge of her trunk. ‘Please excuse me. This is my work room, my shop, it's the most suitable place for me to receive you.' Turning away slightly, she called Ruan again.

Mr Blackmore cleared his throat. ‘Before Ruan arrives I'd like to inquire whether you are opposed to sending him to school. I have it on very good authority that you intend to develop your little business and I thought …' He waved one long, thin hand in the air and left his sentence hanging.

Such a double-edged sword. It was good to know people were talking about her business, but not Ruan, not her private life. Was it going to be impossible to keep the two separate?

The corner of his mouth quirked and for the first time she saw a glimmer of emotion in his face. ‘My wife has many friends in the area.'

And there was the answer. His wife and her friends had been jabbering. Hopefully they would all like new dresses.

‘I'd like to teach Ruan. I believe he has a good mind and would benefit from some formal instruction.'

Of course he had a
good
mind, surely a mother would know that. His mind was not the problem, her purse was. ‘Mr Blackmore, I agree with you and I'd love to see Ruan spend time with children of his own age and benefit from your experience.' There, that should set his mind to rest. Praise a man and he always became more amenable. Another of Aunt Lil's gems which seemed to be holding her in very good stead, despite the difference in their businesses. ‘I'll be honest with you, Mr Blackmore. I simply can't afford the school fees until my business turns a profit.' There, it was said.

‘Why don't we ask Ruan his thoughts on the matter? Ruan!'

Immediately, Ruan appeared. What was it about him and these men? One word, whether from cedar cutter or schoolteacher, and he was as good as gold.

‘Ruan, my boy.'

‘Good morning, Mr Blackmore.' Ruan stood next to her cool, calm and detached. He was growing up and she'd hardly noticed. He needed a new pair of breeches and his shirt strained across the shoulders. Being out of Sydney and having the space to run must have made the difference.

‘Ruan, would you like to go to school?' Mr Blackmore asked the question straight out and simply. No specially prepared speeches. Just directly. She admired him for that.

‘Yes, I would. Mam?'

‘I'd love you to go to school, too.' She turned to Mr Blackmore. ‘Ruan is only six. Maybe next year when we have a little more money?'

Ruan nodded his head, his disappointment obvious. ‘I told you, Mr Blackmore. I can't go to school just yet. Maybe next year.'

‘I might have a solution to that problem, Mrs Ogilvie. I've been talking to my wife—her brother's daughter is getting married next month and we'll be travelling to Sydney for the wedding. She would dearly love a new outfit for the occasion. There'll be insufficient time to arrange this when we arrive in Sydney and we can't leave earlier because of my commitments to my pupils.'

Was this to be her first commission? A dress for a wedding. Mrs Blackmore, who was she? What did she look like? What would she require? A bubble of anticipation lodged in her chest and she clasped her hands tight and craned forward.

Mr Blackmore cleared his throat. ‘She wondered if perhaps you could make over one of her dresses? If you would be prepared to assist her I would waive Ruan's school fees for the remainder of the term. How does that sound?'

It sounded … not as good as she'd hoped. There would be no money in the job, but Ruan could go to school. Did she want him to? She'd never been to school, but Aunt Lil's instructions had stood her in good stead, all those elocution lessons, account books and totalling numbers, reading the newspapers to the girls.

‘Mam. How does that sound?' Ruan tugged at her sleeve, his eyes pleading. ‘You can do it, can't you, Mam? I know you can. Aunt Lil says you have magic in your fingers.'

Roisin gulped back a smile. Hopefully, Ruan hadn't discussed Aunt Lil in too much detail with Mr Blackmore. How could she refuse him? His little face shone. ‘Why don't you ask your wife to call on me, Mr Blackmore? I'm sure we can come to a suitable arrangement. I'd be very happy to pay for Ruan's fees in that manner. It's very kind of you.'

‘Excellent.' He towered over her as he rubbed his hands together, the dry skin making a rasping sound. ‘I shall send her to call on you at say, ten on Monday?'

‘That would be perfect. Ten o'clock it is.'

‘And I shall expect to see Ruan at school at nine-thirty sharp.'

‘Ruan, would you please show Mr Blackmore out.'

How in heaven's name had that happened? Roisin stood and stared out of the window as Ruan and the schoolteacher sauntered down the alley, deep in conversation. He barely came up to the man's hips, yet they were chatting away like old friends. Events had moved so quickly. Well, it was what she'd wanted, wasn't it? Freedom for her son.

‘Thanks, Mam.' He barrelled back through the door, a huge grin plastered across his face. ‘Carrick said you'd agree.'

Carrick! What had Carrick got to do with it? ‘He did, did he? And how does Carrick know about Mr Blackmore and school?' Carrick seemed to be behind too many things.

‘He said it was important I went to school. In Ireland all the children go to school but not in houses. They go to hedge schools. Can you imagine that? A school in a hedge.' He shook his head in wonder.

She couldn't. More importantly, how and when had Carrick and Ruan had this discussion? She wouldn't have to wait long for the answer. Ruan's face was beaming and he was almost tripping over his words in excitement.

‘Carrick said that Mr Blackmore liked to go fishing at the brook and if I went down there in the afternoon after he'd finished at school I'd meet him. If he thought I should go to school he might ask me.' He scratched at his head. ‘He didn't tell me you would have to do work for it though, Mam. Do you mind making a dress for Mrs Blackmore? You're very good at it.'

She hugged him tight. ‘No, darling,' she whispered into his hair. ‘I don't mind at all. In fact, I think school is a wonderful idea.'