Bridie's Fire (17 page)

Bridie noticed a small envelope with Martin Degraves' looping handwriting across it. Mr Degraves had been away for more than two weeks and Mrs Smythe didn't come to the house any more. Bridie knew there was nothing to pay her with. It was more than a month since she had been paid herself.

Later that afternoon, when Lady De Quincey called by to collect her younger daughters, Miss Charity took her mother aside into the front parlour and shut the door while her sisters waited in the carriage. Bridie stood in the hall outside the parlour, longing to press her ear to the door to discover what it was that had stricken her mistress. She could hear Miss Charity crying and the low murmur of Lady De Quincey's voice as she tried to offer some comfort.

That night, Bridie knelt before the fire and smothered the flames with ash to stop them sending up sparks. The house was still and dark as she knelt on the hearth and sprinkled the ashes, whispering the prayer for the embers:
‘
Coiglim an tine seo mar choigleann Criost c
á
idh; Muire ar
mullach an t
í
, agu Brid ina l
á
r
—'

‘What's that you're saying?' came a voice from behind. Bridie started and turned to see Martin Degraves, leaning at the door of the kitchen.

‘It's a prayer.'

‘What's it mean?'

Bridie was careful not to look at him when she replied. ‘At home we say it to save the house. In English, it means “I save this fire as noble Christ saves; Mary on the top of the house and Brigid in its centre; the eight strongest angels in Heaven preserve this house and keep its people safe.” But I didn't finish.'

‘Bridie in its centre, you say.'

Bridie looked down, her face burning. ‘Saint Brigid.' She leaned forward, sprinkling another handful of ash over the embers. Martin Degraves strolled across the room and picked up a loose strand of her long black hair, tucking it behind her ear.

‘Little Bridie O'Connor,' he said. ‘You've changed. I remember thinking what ugly runts you Irish girls were, but the Colony's been good to you.' He grabbed Bridie by the arm, pulling her to her feet. Bridie kept her gaze fixed on the floor.

‘You're fleshing out nicely. Soon we'll be having to keep the baker boy from the door. I've heard you Irish orphan girls make wild brides for the lucky brutes that get you.'

Martin Degraves was such a big man. Bridie's head was level with his chest. She stood as if frozen, her gaze fixed on the chain of his fob watch, with hot anger burning in her.

‘What's the matter with you?' said Martin. ‘Look at your master when he pays you a compliment.'

‘The Devil bless you, sir, I didn't know it was a compliment you were paying me,' said Bridie in a hissing, angry whisper, her fists clenched.

He swept one arm behind her and lifted her off her feet, pushing her hard against the chimney. She could feel the warm bricks at her back and the hot scent of his brandylaced breath. Her heart pounded. She thought to call out, but her horror of Miss Charity finding her like this was almost as great as her fear of the Master.

Degraves grasped her face in his hand and forced it close to his. Mustering all her strength she spat a huge gob of spit at him, and wrenched one of her hands free to rake his face with her nails. Bright drops of blood spouted on his bloated cheek, and with a roar of outrage he let her go. Bridie bolted across the kitchen as fast as she could. She slammed the door of her lean-to bedroom, pushed her cot against it, and wedged the brooms hard between the wall and the door to brace it. She stood on the bed, trembling, and then realised there was another voice in the kitchen.

‘Martin,' she heard Charity cry, ‘Martin, what have you done?'

‘Shut up, woman,' growled Martin. ‘I've done nothing. Besides, I'm the master of this house and I'll do . . .' He didn't finish. Bridie heard a cry of distress from Charity, then a door slammed and footsteps receded into the distance.

Slowly, Bridie edged the door open a crack and looked out. Charity stood in the middle of the kitchen in her nightgown, her long golden hair hanging loose around her shoulders, gasping as she wept. Bridie pulled the door open wide and Charity looked up, with a quick, pained glance, as if Bridie was a small, repugnant animal. Then she fled from the room.

Bridie stepped out into the still kitchen. She swept the ash from the hearth and glanced around the kitchen to reassure herself that all was as it should be. In her bedroom, she lay in the flickering candlelight, listening to the sharp, angry voices of Martin and Charity echoing above. She drifted in and out of sleep, startled by the smallest sounds. Just before dawn, she woke from a dream where Charity stood on the beach at night in her wedding gown and the folds of white silk were burning. In the dream, it was Bridie's skin that felt the searing pain of the flames. She sat up in bed and burst into tears.

24

Gold dust

Mrs Fairlea arrived on the doorstep to arrange the packing-up of Beaumer. Bridie filled Miss Charity's trunks, carefully folding up the lace and cotton garments that she knew so well. Bridie was to return to Beaumanoir when the work of closing up the house was finished. Mrs Fairlea went from room to room, inspecting everything, making arrangements with the carriers and dealing with the tradespeople and shopkeepers who came to have their final accounts settled. Everyone knew that Martin Degraves had brought financial ruin on his home and then disappeared to the Bathurst goldfields in New South Wales.

Miss Charity had left Beaumer with her mother the evening before. She'd barely spoken to Bridie since the night that her husband had left.

When Bridie took her cape and bonnet off at Beaumanoir and hung them in the little room that she had shared with Dora a year ago, it was as if the walls closed in around her. She pressed her face against the small window, looking out at the orchard. The last of the autumn harvest still hung on the trees, and windfall fruit lay rotting in the long grass.

Downstairs in the kitchen, Mrs Arbuckle was rolling out pastry. Bridie put her apron on and set to work, peeling the mountain of potatoes required for the evening meal.

‘Ma'am,' she asked, ‘why hasn't the fruit been gathered in from the orchard?'

‘It will be us three who'll be left to do that chore, my girl. There aren't enough men to care for the grounds any more. Even the gardeners have left for the goldfields. You've heard they've struck gold right here in Victoria now?'

‘The gold fever even came upon Pip during the night,' added Dora. Think of that, a stupid stable boy, lying there in the dark, imagining he'll be the lucky one. But I still don't understand why a wise and honourable man like Mr Alfred should take himself off like that.'

Mrs Arbuckle looked stricken at the mention of Alfred, the butler. ‘It's a terrible time for us women. One by one they've gone – the gardeners, the stable hands and then finally our Alfred. Who'd have thought the gold fever would take him too? A God-fearing, upright man like him! Took him during the night like it did young Pip.'

Dora and Mrs Arbuckle shook their heads but Bridie felt a rush of excitement. If only she was a man, or even a boy. Gold! It made her skin tingle to think about it, that the world could so easily be turned on its head by a stroke of good fortune.

She met Gilbert behind the stables later that afternoon, when she could use the excuse of feeding scraps to the chickens to make an escape from the kitchen. Gilbert looked miserable.

‘What's the matter with you, boyo?' asked Bridie.

‘Charity says I shouldn't come and talk with you any more.'

Bridie felt her chest grow tight.

‘And why's that?' she asked, her heart beating faster.

‘She says we're both getting too old. That's it's not proper for the son of the master to be hanging about with the serving girls,' he said, blushing and looking away. Bridie knew Charity wouldn't have told him about the incident in the kitchen at Beaumer.

‘And what do you think?' asked Bridie.

‘I think it's bloody,' said Gilbert angrily. ‘And that Martin Degraves is a damned bolter and a bludger!'

She'd never heard Gilbert swear before. She watched him stride up and down in the shadow of the stable, punching his fist into his hand and muttering oaths against Martin Degraves, and suddenly she laughed out loud.

‘Strong words, boyo,' she said.

‘Not bloody strong enough,' said Gilbert. ‘Charity had £500 a year from Father, and Degraves spent all of it and then borrowed more and nearly lost Beaumer as well! He couldn't keep his place with Governor La Trobe because he couldn't stop getting drunk. And worst of all, Charity is still in love with the blighter! I hope a bushranger shoots him!'

‘And I hope that bushranger blows the guts right out of the bastard!' said Bridie fiercely.

Gilbert looked shocked at Bridie's language. Then suddenly he laughed. For a moment, Bridie was glad to be back at Beaumanoir.

The feeling didn't last long. With fewer servants to maintain the huge house, Bridie was on the run from early dark until long after Gilbert was in bed. They had small chance to speak to each other, and Bridie started to feel bleak with exhaustion. It wasn't like working at Beaumer, where Bridie had been able to cook and order the kitchen as she pleased. Even if Mrs Arbuckle let her help with the food preparation, it also meant she had to endure the old cook's renewed attempts to convert her. No matter how hard she tried, Bridie would never feel at home at Beaumanoir.

On a cold September morning, Gilbert helped Bridie hitch up the cart for a trip to the markets in town. Not enough shops were left open in the Toorak Village to supply the manor house. Mrs Fairlea had to drive the cart the long way up the St Kilda Road because even the punt-keeper had shut his door and taken to the goldfields.

The town was the busiest Bridie had ever seen it. New arrivals were pouring into Melbourne by the boatload as news of the latest goldrush spread. Bridie stopped at the end of Elizabeth Street and watched the parade of carts and a long, snaking line of people heading out of town.

Turning into Collins Street, Bridie saw two women climbing into a carriage, and a ruddy-faced man in a top hat reaching down to help them. The women's clothes were of velvet and silk trimmed with lace, and they laughed loudly as the man waved his silver-topped cane at the driver, shouting for him to move off. His voice was coarse and his accent thick London cockney.

Mrs Arbuckle scowled. ‘What a spectacle! Trollops and shysters, the lot of them! The whole world's turned on its head when rabble like them can pretend to be fine ladies and gentleman. Why, anyone can become a master overnight, even if they're putrid with sin! What is the world coming to?'

Bridie stared at the women in the carriage. One of them looked strangely familiar. When her eyes met Bridie's, she smiled knowingly and raised one hand in the air, pointing to the gold rings on her third finger. It was Biddy Ryan. As soon as Mrs Arbuckle's back was turned, Bridie waved to Biddy. ‘Good luck to ye, girl,' she muttered to herself as she followed after Dora and Mrs Arbuckle.

The ‘spectacle' had obviously given Dora something to think about. She leaned towards Bridie and whispered, almost conspiratorially, ‘Lieutenant-Governor La Trobe said he'd seen a team of five men dig 136 ounces of gold in a single day and then 120 ounces the next! Ordinary blokes! A servant would have to work for years and years to earn as much in currency!'

‘Do you think there's any women that go to the goldfields?' asked Bridie. ‘Do you think a girl could go and make her fortune?'

‘Don't be stupid! Of course a girl couldn't go! But I've heard that the maid at the Excelsior made a fortune, simply shaking the gold dust from the clothing of the miners that stayed. She shook it out of the rugs and the sheets, and now she's bought herself a fine little house in Fitzroy.'

Bridie couldn't imagine how much gold you'd have to shake out to buy a house, but the thought that a maid could become a mistress almost overnight made her laugh out loud. She had eight pounds – a year's wages – tucked away in the bottom of her trunk, but it made her giddy to think that an ounce of gold was worth all of that – and men were picking up nuggets as big as their fists on the goldfields.

When they reached the marketplace, it was packed with new arrivals, all buying up supplies for the journey to the diggings. ‘I'll have a penny loaf,' said Bridie to the grubby baker's boy, pointing to his full basket of loaves.

‘You'll pay sixpence for it,' said the baker's boy, turning away.

Bridie had to go back to Mrs Arbuckle and report that there wasn't a loaf to be had for under sixpence. The old cook snorted with disgust and disbelief.

Mrs Arbuckle did nothing but exclaim at both the prices and the raggle-taggle crowd of goldseekers. When they finally met up with Mrs Fairlea and the cart headed back towards Princes Bridge, Mrs Arbuckle folded her hands in her lap, shut her eyes and began to pray. Loud, brassy miners spilled out of the pubs along Swanston Street and called out to the two girls, but Mrs Fairlea quickly guided the horse and cart onto the bridge and back down St Kilda Road.

‘They've found gold in Lonsdale Street,' said Mrs Fairlea with grim wonder.

‘Here, in Melbourne?' exclaimed Dora.

‘Aye, there'll be no end to the madness that will bring,' scowled Mrs Fairlea. But Dora swivelled around in her seat and looked wistfully back at the town.

Bridie was the one who had to stable the horse, as no one else was there to do it. As she was waiting for the other women to climb down from the carriage, a ragged man walked in through the gates of Beaumanoir. At first Bridie thought he must be looking for work, but Mrs Arbuckle cried out in surprise, ‘He's come back! Back from the goldfields, the poor gentleman.' Dappled sunlight fell across the man's face, and for a moment, Bridie thought Albert had returned, but then the man looked up and Dora called, ‘It's Mister Degraves!'