The Sea Between (9 page)

Letitia was well, John wrote, and slowly coming to terms with the loss of Ben. There was no mention in the letter of Richard.

In the first week of December a letter arrived from Chambers & Duckworth, Registered Lawyers, addressed to Charlotte, advising her that she was a beneficiary of the late Isobel Wyatt’s estate, and humbly requesting her to make an appointment at her earliest convenience with Mr Lionel Barraclough at their Cashel Street office in Christchurch. Isobel, it seemed, had left her some money. A great deal of money. Eight hundred pounds.

The envelope from Chambers & Duckworth also contained a second envelope. Isobel had apparently deposited it with them when she had had them draw up her will six months ago—perhaps realizing even then that she was very ill—with instructions that the letter was to be delivered to Charlotte at such time as they executed her will. Charlotte slit it open, unfolded the enclosed letter, and began reading. It was written in her aunt’s bold, sprawling hand.

11th June, 1866

Dear Charlotte

When you receive this letter I shall be dead. Death comes to us all eventually, that being the way of all flesh, so I want none of your tears spoiling the ink.

You will have the letter from Chambers & Duckworth in your hand. As you will see from the reading, I have bequeathed you some money, to be precise £800. I have it on good advice that the amount is more than sufficient for you to purchase a property, which is what I request you should do. It will afford you some independence. I would not like to think that you were obliged to board with George all your life, should you choose not to marry. The choice and location of the property I leave entirely up to you.

Should you choose to marry at some stage, I wish you to sell the property, prior to marrying, and give the proceeds to a worthy charitable fund. As the law stands, on marriage the property would become your husband’s. You know my feelings upon that subject well enough, so I need not elaborate further. I have another reason for requesting it, too—it will safeguard against the danger of a man marrying you for your property, and not your person.

I have left £100 each to Edwin and George, and the residue of my estate will pass to John.

I will finish with two parting pieces of advice which you would do well to heed. Forget Richard Steele, and don’t settle for second best.

Your affectionate aunt,

Isobel

Charlotte’s tears did spoil the ink. She wept for a long while. But eventually she dried her eyes, blew her nose, and reached for the newspaper, still lying on the table where George had left it the night before. There was a haberdashery for sale in Oxford Street. A business with an income. Isobel would have approved of that.

As for her aunt’s two parting pieces of advice, Charlotte didn’t think she would ever be able to completely forget what Richard had once meant to her. And not settling for second best—well, she certainly intended to do her best on that score.

It had been a sad year, but 1867 began with the promise of happier times. Ann was pregnant, George became a partner in a small privately owned insurance company, and Charlotte became the proprietress of a small haberdashery on Oxford Street.

March 1867

W
illiam Fairfield was thirty-six, a lithely built man, not much taller than Charlotte. He had lean features, fine brown hair and a neatly clipped moustache. Charlotte thought he had a look of Sir George Grey. William was George’s business partner, the senior partner of the two.

He was an interesting man, well-read, with a gift for explaining complicated things in a simple way—like the engineering of the Lyttelton railway tunnel, which he was currently explaining to Charlotte. Not normally the least bit interested in engineering, she was interested in the tunnel. It had recently been announced that the two ends—one dug from Lyttelton, the other from Heathcote—were expected to break through to each other within the next few weeks. A bold announcement, considering each end of the tunnel would be well over a thousand yards long when the two finally met. It would be the culmination of five years’ work.

‘How can they be sure the two ends of the tunnel will actually meet?’ Charlotte asked, frowning as she considered the problem.

‘They’ll meet,’ William replied confidently. ‘They carry out very precise measurements from each end.’ He lifted his hand to point to the summit of the hill directly above the tunnel entrance. ‘You see the tower up there—there’s a batten mounted on it with a black stripe
down the centre of it. It can be seen from each end of the tunnel; it’s situated more or less at the mid-point. They use the stripe as a centre line to make sure the alignment of the tunnel is correct. The method is fairly simple, but the instrumentation is quite sophisticated. They use what’s known as a transit instrument.’

‘Yes, I’ve seen the engineers using it,’ Charlotte inserted.

William glanced across at her and smiled. ‘You’ll have seen how they position it outside the tunnel, then, so it lines up exactly with the centre of the tunnel entrance. What they do next is light a candle and place it inside the tunnel, so that it’s exactly on the centre line of the workings. They then sight the marker on the hill, sight the candle flame, and if the two fall exactly in line they know they’re tunnelling in a straight line. If the flame is to one side of the central line on the instrument, it means the tunnel is skewing. They then have to calculate by how much so they can correct it. That’s a very simplified explanation, but it will give you the general idea of how they do it.’

‘Oh, I see,’ she said, squinting as she studied the marker tower on top of the hill. George had tried to explain its purpose to her, but she hadn’t understood a word he’d said. She lowered her eyes to the tunnel entrance again as a dull booming sounded from deep inside the hill, a familiar sound in Lyttelton. Taking a welcome break from their labours while the blasting was in progress, the hard-labour gang from the gaol was sitting in a group to one side of the tunnel. As usual, two armed guards were keeping a close watch on them. Some of the prisoners were serving sentences for serious offences.

‘I wonder what the prisoners will do once the tunnel is finished,’ she said, thinking aloud. The hard-labour gang had provided the manpower for removing all the blasted rock and rubble from the tunnel and carting it to the foreshore, to extend the area of useable land around the wharves.

‘Personally, I’m hoping the council will see fit to have them lay some more pavement and stormwater channelling,’ William replied as he turned to look back along Norwich Quay where his business premises were situated. It had rained heavily during the night and the road was in a dreadful state, with wheel ruts full of muddy water and the ground squelchy underfoot. ‘God knows the town could use some decent pavements,’ he said, shaking his head. ‘George and I had to lay boards across the step to the premises this morning so clients could come in without sinking up to their ankles in mire.’

‘That’s one advantage of having premises on Oxford Street,’ Charlotte commented. ‘The stormwater just runs down the hill.’

‘And collects at the doorstep of Fairfield & Blake,’ William added wryly.

She laughed. That was another reason why she enjoyed William’s company—he had a nice sense of humour.

‘Well…’ she said, grimacing as she glanced down at the muddy hem of her dress. ‘I’d better be getting back to the shop.’

William fell into step beside her as she picked her way between puddles, mud and horse droppings, which were all particularly abundant that morning. ‘How is your protégée shaping up?’ he enquired.

‘I’m very pleased with her,’ Charlotte replied positively. Rose Pitt—Charlotte’s ‘protégée’ as George had scathingly dubbed her—had been in her employment for nearly a month now. Rose was eighteen and had spent three years working as an assistant in a Christchurch haberdashery store. She was also freshly out of prison. She’d just served three months for thieving. George had been scandalized when she’d told him about the girl’s history. Utter folly, he’d called it. It would damage her business and she would have to padlock the till. Ignoring his warnings, she had stuck to her guns, determined to give the girl a chance to earn an honest living again.
Business had not been affected, and when she counted the takings at the end of each week they were right to the last farthing.

‘I hope she doesn’t disappoint you,’ William said with a dubious smile.

‘So do I,’ she said. If only because she’d never hear the last of it from George.

As they drew level with the premises of Fairfield & Blake, Charlotte couldn’t resist a smile as she read the wording on the prominent brass plaque on the door:
Maritime & General Insurance Agency.
The truth was that Fairfield & Blake had managed to secure very few insurance contracts which fell into the maritime category. Most ship owners preferred to deal with the well-established and highly reputable Lloyd’s Insurance Company, which had an office in Lyttelton. George and William’s main business was in household and general insurance policies, and from what she could gather that side of business was doing quite well.

‘Thank you for your company,’ she said pleasantly as she turned to smile at William. She was still trying to decide whether their meeting had been coincidental, or whether he’d engineered it. She suspected the latter. William’s desk was right beside the window, so he could easily have noticed her walking along the street.

‘It was a pleasure.’ He smiled warmly. ‘I was wondering if you’d accompany me to the magic lantern show on Saturday evening?’

The invitation didn’t particularly surprise her. William had asked her out a few times already, but, much as she enjoyed his company, she didn’t want to encourage him too much. She liked him, but the fact was there was nothing stirring inside her in terms of stronger feelings and she didn’t want to give him the impression that there was. George would be cross, but that couldn’t be helped. He’d already dropped several strong hints that an alliance between her and his senior partner would stand him in good stead.

‘As a matter of fact I’m already going to the lantern show, with George and Ann,’ she said.

‘Yes, I know George and Ann are planning to go,’ William returned. He had obviously heard via George. ‘But I was inviting you to go with me.’ He smiled again and waited.

She smiled back at him. ‘Well, it’s a little awkward…you see, I’m taking Rose Pitt with me.’

His smile turned to a look of surprise. ‘Oh? George didn’t mention that she was accompanying you.’

‘George doesn’t know about it,’ she said. Neither did Rose, yet.

She could see from William’s face what he was thinking—that George wouldn’t be very pleased when he found out about Rose. She was half-expecting him to voice his thoughts, but he didn’t. He merely smiled again and said, ‘Well, perhaps I shall see you there.’

Rose was busy tidying the counter when Charlotte arrived back. Half the stock in the shop appeared to be spread across it. Satin ribbons of every shade imaginable, lace collars, flimsy silk scarves, belts, buckles, buttons, muslin shawls…

As the shop bell tinkled, announcing Charlotte’s arrival, Rose glanced over her shoulder. ‘Oh, you’re back already, Miss Blake.’

‘I am. Have you been busy, Rose?’ Smiling, Charlotte walked over to the counter.

Rose nodded her head. ‘Three customers since you went out.’

‘Did they purchase much?’ She dragged the sales ledger across so she could see for herself.

Rose nodded again. ‘One lady bought some threads, a scarf and two pairs of stockings, another bought four yards of white muslin and some ribbon and some buttons, and the other customer was a gentleman who bought that lovely crocheted black shawl that was hanging up in the corner of the shop window.’

A profitable afternoon, Charlotte thought. The shop was doing
very well. It had shown a small profit every week since Rose had begun work. George could say what he liked; Rose was an asset.

‘You’ve done well, Rose,’ she complimented the girl. ‘This is going to be a good week. The takings are nearly double last week’s and it’s still only Thursday.’

Rose’s cheeks turned pink, putting a splash of colour in her face for once. She was a very plain girl, and as thin as a broom handle. Her straight fair hair was pulled tightly back and twisted into a tight little knob at the back of her head, making her thin face look even thinner. But for all her thinness and pallid colouring, she seemed healthy enough.

Reaching for the bolt of lace, Charlotte began to carefully roll up the loose end while Rose bobbed down behind the counter, putting away boxes of buttons.

‘Have you ever been to a magic lantern show, Rose?’ Charlotte enquired casually.

Bobbing up again, Rose shook her head. ‘Oh no, Miss Blake.’

‘Would you like to, if you had the chance?’

‘I can’t afford to, miss,’ she said. ‘The tickets are too dear.’ She reached for a silk scarf and began to fold it into a neat square. There was no resentment in her voice; it was simply a statement of fact.

‘There’s a show in the Colonists’ Hall on Saturday evening. Would you like to go? I’ll pay for your ticket,’ Charlotte offered.

Rose stared at her. ‘I…I’d like to go, but I’ve nothing suitable to wear, miss,’ she stuttered.

Charlotte glanced down at her assistant’s plain grey cotton dress. It was clean and nicely ironed, but it was a bit shabby in places. ‘The dress you’re wearing will do fine, Rose,’ she assured her. ‘And I’ve a shawl you can have, a blue one that I don’t use. It will go with the grey very well. I’ll bring it to the shop tomorrow. You’ll need to be at the hall by half-past seven. Make sure you’re not late.’

‘Oh, I won’t be late, miss. I shall be there well before time. Thank you. Thank you very much, Miss Blake,’ Rose said, and grinned with delight. It was the first time Charlotte had ever seen her smile properly.

She felt quite puzzled by Rose. She didn’t seem the sort of girl who would steal, yet she had. Before finally deciding to employ Rose, Charlotte had made a few discreet enquiries about her. It appeared Rose had stolen money from her previous employer’s till, and not just a few coppers either—the takings had been down to the tune of five pounds. When her employer had questioned her about it she had denied all knowledge, but when the constable gave her a grilling she’d broken down and admitted her guilt. What puzzled Charlotte was
why
Rose had taken the money. She’d had a good position, and her employers were by all accounts very kind to her. Why would she want to jeopardize her position by stealing from them when it was quite obvious that the shortfall would be noticed? The prison official whom Charlotte had questioned about it had merely shrugged and said dismissively, ‘She became greedy, I suppose.’ Greed was one thing, but stupidity was quite another, and whatever else Rose was, she wasn’t stupid. Which brought Charlotte back to the same puzzling question: what had prompted the girl to thieve? She decided to do a bit of probing.

‘Where do your family live, Rose?’ she enquired.

‘In Dunedin, Miss Blake,’ Rose replied, eyes still bright with excitement.

‘When did you move to Christchurch?’

‘When I was fifteen, miss.’

‘To work?’

‘Yes, miss.’

She didn’t ask where. She knew where. In the haberdashery store from which she’d stolen the money. ‘Have you brothers and sisters?’

Rose nodded. ‘I’m the second youngest of nine.’

‘Are your siblings all in Dunedin?’

‘No, miss. I’ve a brother in Christchurch.’

‘That’s nice for you. It’s always good to have a relative close to hand,’ Charlotte remarked with a pleasant smile. ‘Is he married?’

Rose shook her head.

‘What sort of work does he do?’

‘He’s a cooper.’

‘How long has he worked in Christchurch?’

‘Three years, miss.’

‘Did you move up to Christchurch together?’ She guessed they probably had. Rose’s nod confirmed it.

‘How old is he?’

‘Twenty, miss.’

Charlotte nodded, smiled, and quizzed her about the rest of the family. From Rose’s description of them, they seemed hard-working, respectable people. Her father was a cooper, her three other brothers all worked in a sawmill, three of her sisters were married and had families, and the other sister was a servant. Half an hour later, Charlotte had learned precisely nothing to explain or even suggest why Rose had blotted her family’s respectable copybook. She would probably never know, she decided as she locked up the shop at the end of the day, and she certainly couldn’t ask Rose outright why she’d stolen. She was trying to help the girl to put her past behind her, not rub her nose in it.

She had just got back to the house and was in the hall, taking her coat off, when George arrived, ten minutes earlier than usual, and steaming. This time the steam had nothing to do with the steepness of the Lyttelton streets or the warmth of the day.

‘My partner has just informed me that you’ve invited that girl—Miss Pitt—to the magic lantern show!’ Puffing his cheeks in and
out as he did when he was very annoyed, George slammed the door behind him. ‘Whatever are you thinking of, Charlotte? As if it isn’t enough that you employ a girl with a history of theft, now you’re inviting her out to shows! Well, I can tell you one thing—she is
not
accompanying us!’