The Cedar Cutter (24 page)

‘It seems wonderful in your hands, put me inside it and it is transformed into a brightly coloured sack more suitable for vegetables. I was swayed because it reminded me of home.'

‘Not at all, not at all. I can help you.' And she could. A surge of anticipation traced her skin. She could do this and send another satisfied customer on her way.

‘Would you be kind enough to step behind the curtain and slip it on? If you have any difficulties with the lacings I can call Jane to assist you.'

Roisin hid her smile. What a wonderful addition Jane made to the business. Her mind flashed back once more to the turbulent days at Maison Français. The laughing girls, the thrills and the fun. That was what Lady Alice needed. She'd turn this poor little brown mouse into a swan and let her sail forth and win her husband's affections. She rubbed her hands together. It was a challenge, but one she could rise to and the prospect left a satisfied glow inside her.

‘Jane.'

‘Yes, Miss.' She'd never cure Jane of her deference.

‘Would you please assist Lady Alice? We have work to do.'

While Jane and Lady Alice disappeared behind the curtain, Roisin buried her head in her trunk, rummaging until she found a kingfisher-blue silk corset and a more decorous plain cream one. Both would be too large for Lady Alice; however, they would explain her thoughts. The black and red one she tucked back to the bottom, out of sight.

When Lady Alice appeared from behind the screen with her eyes downcast, clasping the skirt in her bunched fists, Roisin took a deep breath. ‘Please relax. Drop your hands and stand still. I have to make a few tucks and pleats.' She tightened the dress around the waist and loosened the laces across the back of the shoulders, making the neckline gape painfully at the front.

‘Oh no! That is just making matters worse.' Lady Alice wrenched away, clasping the yawning material to her scrawny chest.

‘Please, trust me. Now turn to me. The carriage of your head is excellent; however, a little more padding here might …' She wisped her hand across Lady Alice's chest. ‘Your waist is exquistely slender, with a bit of artifice we can assure the décolletage will be all you would wish for.'

‘I'd prefer a more flowing line and not too colourful, a grey perhaps, with the smallest amount of trimming.'

‘No, no. The colour is perfect, it brings out the highlights in your eyes and flatters your complexion. I want you to stand very still, close your eyes and promise me you will not open them until I say so.'

Jane frowned at her and Roisin shook her head. All she needed was a moment or two and a large amount of trust. She dragged various remnants and offcuts of silk from the trunk. She'd much rather use the fleece, but the rotten stench still clung to her nostrils and to ask Lady Alice to put it against her skin would simply be too much. Balling the silk, she slipped it down the front of the dress and moulded it to the gaping fabric. Then she spun Lady Alice around and laced the back of the dress as tightly as she could. ‘Don't open your eyes, not yet. Jane, can you fetch the glass please. Now before you look, Lady Alice I have to ask you to trust me and use your imagination.'

‘My imagination is running riot. I have no idea what is going on, I feel like a stuffed Christmas goose.' Lady Alice smothered a giggle, the first Roisin had heard from her, and flashed her eyes open. Her cheeks pinked as she gazed in the mirror. ‘Oh my dear.' A tear trickled down her cheek. ‘I have bosoms.' She turned this way and that then threw her shoulders back. ‘Big bosoms!' Her shrill laugh tinkled, filling the little room. ‘You have worked a miracle.'

‘Not a miracle, simply a bit of padding. Now this is very rough and doesn't fit you at all well. Given a bit of time I can make a corset that will fit you perfectly, and believe me, no one will know where the padding ends and you begin.'

Lady Alice ran her hands down to her waist. ‘I'm a little lumpy.'

‘You won't be. I have some fleece, which we'll insert in the corset. The dress is perfect and so are you.'

‘Not perfect. A definite improvement.' The smile still hovered on her face and she stretched onto her toes, turning in front of the mirror.

‘It's imperative that you stand tall and throw your shoulders back.'

‘You sound like my governess. Please don't tell me she was right all along.'

Roisin's lips twitched and she slid her hand under Lady Alice's chin. ‘It's all about your stance and the manner in which you hold your head.'

‘An illusion.'

‘Yes, I think you could say that.'

Lady Alice giggled again. ‘My corset. Would it be possible to make it the same colour as the dress? I love this colour. It is like the wings on the ducks in the ponds in Ireland. Mallard ducks. It reminded me so much of home, I'm sure that is why I was drawn to it.'

‘It's the perfect colour for your complexion.' Roisin unfolded the peacock-coloured corset and held it up. ‘Something like this is what I have in mind?'

‘Oh!' A dreamy look crossed Lady Alice's face as she ran her fingers over the pleated silk. ‘It is simply …' She frowned. ‘How long will it take? I have only a few days before we return to Sydney.'

‘Jane and I will work on it and I believe we can have it ready for you in two days.'

Jane stared at her, eyebrows raised and Roisin flashed her eyes in warning. Yes, it would be hard work, but they could do it. She reached for a length of Jane's lace. ‘We'll run two rows of lace here and it will sit proud and add to the effect. I'll need to take a few more precise measurements, if you can spare the time.'

‘Of course, of course. I have all the time in the world.' Lady Alice grasped hold of the mirror, a secret smile lighting her eyes.

Wouldn't Lady Alice's husband be in for a surprise?

The time flew as Lady Alice's corset began to take shape and the final lace overskirt was sewn onto Mrs Winchester's dress. Without Jane's fine stitching and patient perfectionism Roisin would never have managed to complete anything. Poor Ruan, however, was left increasingly to his own devices, foraging in the garden, collecting treasures, attending school.

‘Ruan, where are you?' Roisin peered through the kitchen window into the yard, then spotted his treasure box sitting on the floor next to the fire. She climbed the ladder to the attic and checked his bedroom. He was nowhere to be seen. She rushed outside and scanned the street. ‘Elsie, have you seen Ruan?'

‘After school. Not for a couple of hours.'

Her stomach performed a series of cartwheels. How could she have lost sight of the time and Ruan? He hadn't even eaten dinner. She'd sent Jane to deliver Mrs Winchester's dress and get a bit of fresh air after the late evening they'd had the night before. She'd spent the morning putting the finishing touches to the lace on Lady Alice's corset and Ruan had vanished.

Elsie frowned and gave a disappointed tut. ‘The bloody cutters are back in town. Camped down by the brook. Bunch of rogues and scoundrels.'

Roisin's heart picked up a beat at the news. Not only would Ruan be safe, but Carrick was back in town and sooner than she'd expected. ‘That'll be where he's gone. Ruan has taken such a liking to the man.' And so had she.

Elsie's mouth dropped open and her hand dampened Roisin's blouse when she laid it on her arm. ‘Best go down and check. Ask Maisie first. Can't be too careful.'

‘He'll be fine if he's with Carrick.' She made to return inside to her sewing. Maybe she could convince Carrick to stay and share tea with them. She still hadn't produced the meal of pickled cabbage and mutton pie she'd promised.

‘You go find your boy and bring him back. Can't be too careful with those cutters. Go now. I'll keep an eye on your place.'

Maybe Elsie was right, she'd become just a little too free and easy with Ruan. He had to learn to tell her where he was going. Carrick or no Carrick. The caring nature of the people in the small town had lulled her into a false sense of security. After Ruan's escapade with the old Aboriginal man she'd kept him close to the house for a day or two; however, once she'd received the commission from Lady Alice and Mrs Winchester, she'd become too busy to worry.

She turned and headed across the street to the inn. The bullock dray was drawn up at the camp alongside the brook and even from a distance she could see the fire burning beneath the ever-present billy. No sign of Ruan, though.

Waiting for her eyes to become accustomed to the dark interior of the inn after the sunshine outside, she hovered in the doorway. Harry Kidd had his head down, deep in conversation with a well-dressed man at the bar, otherwise the inn seemed empty. A shudder ran through her, a chilly finger tracing her spine, and she turned back to the welcoming sunshine, uncomfortable and unwilling to disturb the men's conversation.

She hovered a moment outside the inn, gazing across at the expanse of grass next to the brook. Then she spotted Ruan and Carrick hunched at the edge of the water.
Fishing!

Elsie and her fearmongering. Of course Carrick would take care of Ruan, although who had managed to find whom would be impossible to guess, they seemed to have a sixth sense about each other's whereabouts.

She lifted her hands and waved. ‘Ruan. Carrick.'

Carrick turned and waved back, making no effort to move. What did it matter? She was wasting time. Time she could spend on sewing. She had only two days to finish the corsets and everything required hand stitching. Carrick would bring Ruan home. She turned and made her way back up the street.

‘Well, where's my boy?' Elsie stood in the middle of the road, hands on her hips.

‘He's down at the brook with Carrick, fishing. You were right, the cutters are camped down there.'

Elsie narrowed her eyes. ‘Why don't you come in and have a cup of tea. You and I need to have a little chat.'

‘I'd love to, unfortunately I'm far too busy. That's why I lost track of Ruan. I can't afford to spend time taking tea, as much as I'd like to. I've only got two days to …'

Elsie blocked her way, her face a mask of concern. ‘It's not a choice. You need to come inside and hear some home truths before it's too late.' Elsie's brisk, formal tone brooked no argument.

What was the woman talking about? ‘Elsie, I'm sorry …'

‘No apologies. No excuses. Come on.'

For goodness sake. She didn't want to put Elsie's back up, but she really didn't have time for socialising. She let out a sigh and returned to the store. ‘Well, just a quick one, it's all I have time for.' Ten or fifteen minutes at most and then she'd plead work and leave.

‘That's my girl. Come inside and sit down.'

Maisie was already waiting, elbows resting on the counter, staring into space. No wonder she couldn't find her at the inn. ‘Maisie. I was down at the inn just now trying to find you.'

‘Humph!'

Elsie pulled up a stool and gestured to the one next to her. Roisin sat down and tucked her hands into her lap like a schoolgirl waiting for a reprimand. What had happened?

Clearing her throat, Elsie poured out three cups of tea, added sugar, moved a cup in front of Roisin and then cleared her throat again.

‘Oh, stop beating around the bush, Elsie Sullivan. Are you going to say something or am I?' Maisie glared across at Roisin, while Elsie pleated and unpleated the skirt of her apron.

‘Looks as though it's going to have to be me. Roisin …'

Roisin lifted her head, waiting for the axe to fall. Were they going to tell her she had to leave the cottage? That Mr Martin had changed his mind about the lease on her house? Surely not. Not when business was just beginning to pick up. Maybe she owed too much at the store. She'd have enough to clear her debts as soon as she completed the work for Mrs Winchester. If not, Aunt Lil would lend her some money to tide her over, she'd said that from the very beginning. She simply hadn't wanted to ask and with the help of the money from the small jobs she'd had she'd managed to eke out the few pounds she'd brought from Sydney.

‘… your best interests at heart.'

Roisin's head snapped up. She was so busy second-guessing Elsie she hadn't even heard what she'd said. ‘I'm sorry. I didn't catch all of that.'

‘Stay away. That's what we're saying. Treat them with a bit of distance. They're not to be trusted.'

Who were they talking about? The Winchesters? Surely the wife of the local magistrate could be trusted. ‘Who?'

‘Haven't you got a brain in that pretty head of yours? Carrick, Carrick O'Connor. He's the ring leader.'

‘Carrick? What has he got to do with all this?'

‘Have you listened to one single word we've said, or are you so besotted by his Irish charm that you can't see two inches in front of your nose?'

‘I beg your pardon?' Roisin leapt to her feet, her face burning and her lips tingling at the memory of his fleeting kiss. So what if she was besotted by the man's charm, Irish or otherwise? It had nothing whatsoever to do with Elsie and Maisie.

‘Clamber down from that high horse and listen. It's for your own good.'

Roisin lowered herself back onto the stool. ‘Carrick is charming and he's a gentleman. Besides, Ruan is fond of him.' How feeble she sounded hiding behind her son. ‘He's a friend of yours, too.' She glared at Maisie.

‘That's different. He drinks at the inn. Same as they all do.'

Elsie pinned her with a beady-eyed stare. ‘Do you or do you not want to make a go of this business of yours?'

‘Of course I do.' Roisin schooled her mouth and swallowed the threatening pout.

‘The likes of the Winchesters won't be calling on you if they find you, or that boy of yours, hanging around with a bunch of drunken louts and ex-convicts.'