An Unconventional Heiress. Paula Marshall

did he manage that? There’s a desperate shortage of such useful creatures in the colony.’

      ‘Indeed.’ Tom drank up his port before giving a short laugh. ‘Well, if I tell you that he supplied them with Corporal Hackett’s widow, you’ll gather that he did them no favour. On the other hand, she was probably the only woman available.’

      ‘Mrs Hackett!’ Alan nearly choked over his lamb. ‘Now that I should like to see. The thought of that high-nosed fine lady, trying to keep in order a woman who has created chaos in every kitchen and drawing room of those foolish enough to employ her, has quite made my day. You know that Major Menzies threw her out of his home after she had reduced the whole household to tears? Yes, any woman who can reduce Mrs Menzies to tears is well worth knowing.’

      ‘Now what should make you think that she’ll subdue Miss Langley?’

      ‘Come, come, Tom, you know that in the great houses in which Miss Langley lived all the real business of running a home was done behind the scenes so far as she was concerned. Here, she’s living in a little two-storey villa, on top of the kitchen, the cooking and the cleaning. Yes, I can only imagine how hard she’ll find it to cope with such a come-down in the world. I am still wondering what odd whim brought her here, so far from the comforts of her English life.’

      It was useless to argue with him. He had taken against Sarah Langley from the first moment they had met, and God only knew if he would ever be able to change his mind about her. Tom was sure that his friend was misjudging her badly, that he was unaware of the dark shadow in which the poor creature was living. He also knew that the misjudgement arose from the circumstances of Alan’s own sad past, and he could do nothing about that.

      Best to say nothing, then. After all, it was likely that the Langleys’ stay in the colony would be short, and then there would be nothing to provoke Alan Kerr into forgetting his better self, the self that had rescued Tom Dilhorne from the gutter, and was also fiercely maintaining the good health of Sydney by his tireless hard work.

      When Sarah heard that not only had the Governor found and furnished a house for them, but had also appointed a housekeeper to look after it for her, she was overjoyed.

      Her joy did not last long. Mrs Hackett was a woman with the build of a pugilist and an expression that was so sour that Sarah felt she probably only had to look at milk to make it turn. If her manner to Sarah was surly, her behaviour towards the servants, also provided by Government House, was downright cruel. Sarah remembered her introduction to them and to Mrs Hackett’s malevolence…

      She had been seated at her portable writing desk, trying to finish a letter to her best friend and John’s sweetheart, Emily Hazeldean, when Mrs Hackett had come in to say that the servants had just arrived in a gig driven by one of the corporals with whom her late husband had served.

      ‘The servants has come, Mam, and most unsatisfactory they are.’

      Sarah put down her pen. ‘Why, what is wrong with them, Mrs Hackett?’

      ‘Sluts,’ she said, balefully, ‘and trollops.’

      ‘You are speaking of the servants?’

      ‘Who else, Mam? They’re a convict and a convict’s daughter, and no better than they should be. They’re waiting in the kitchen for you to look at them. You said as how you would.’

      She spoke as though Sarah had expressed a wish so outlandish that it scarcely needed to be discussed. Sarah was half-annoyed, half-amused by her insolence, reflecting that from her manner of speaking one might think that Mrs Hackett was the mistress and Sarah the servant!

      Settling into her new home had, as Alan Kerr had supposed, taken up a great deal of her time and energy. John, of course, had left everything to her. Not only that, he had departed earlier that morning on yet another sketching expedition and had announced that he would not be back until late since he proposed to dine in the Officers’ Mess again. To make matters worse, she was unable to mend her quill pen since he had inconsiderately made off, without permission, with her only sharp knife, having been unable to find his own.

      The letter to Miss Emily Hazeldean would have to wait. Sarah set off for the tiny, stiflingly hot kitchen, sighing gently. What appeared to be two bundles of clothing stood waiting for her. The older and larger of the shapeless pair was introduced to her as Nellie Riley; the younger and smaller as Sukie Thwaites. They were both, it seems, untrained and their final roles as assistant cook and maid-of-all-work were to be decided in the future.

      Sarah thought that she had never before seen such an unlikely pair. The Governor’s aide who had done all the hiring for them had explained that, due to the shortage of women in the colony, it would be difficult to find anyone who wished to be a servant at all, let alone anyone who was trained.

      Both women were wearing coarse black-and-red print frocks, gaudy shawls and heavy, clog-like shoes. Their hair was pinned up inside large sun-bonnets, which they apparently wore indoors as well as out. At Mrs Hackett’s prompting they both curtsied and addressed Sarah as Mum. She was compelled to admit that Mrs Hackett had not misrepresented their unattractiveness.

      She was also eager to inform Sarah of Nellie’s disreputable past.

      ‘This here girl was transported because she was a thief, and her brother with her. Best to keep an eye on the silver, Mam.’

      What she did not say was that Nellie had supplemented her meagre income at the Female Factory, where convict women were sent on arrival, by selling herself to any man who had a penny or some little luxury to offer her.

      ‘If she don’t please, Mam, why, you’ve only to say so and we can send her back where she came from and ask for another gal to take her place.’

      Sarah had sometimes been responsible for the hiring and firing of servants back in England, but she had never felt the kind of revulsion that she experienced when she contemplated returning this miserable piece of humanity to the Factory and its cruel discipline. Sukie, however, was a free agent, but as she was an Emancipist’s daughter Mrs Hackett made it plain that her feelings were not to be considered, either.

      ‘I hope that you will be happy here,’ Sarah said inadequately, aware of both the young women’s sullen resentment of her for her pampered appearance, as well as Mrs Hackett’s open contempt for what she thought of as Sarah’s softness. She suddenly remembered what Tom Dilhorne had warned her of in his shop and thought that it was the most sensible piece of advice she had been given since the Pomona had docked.

      At least, back in England her life had been spent at some distance from that of her many servants, but here, in this tiny house, their presence would be close and confining. Never mind, she thought, I have my painting and drawing to occupy me, and when the weather is fine I shall be able to ride once John has found me a suitable horse—and perhaps a carriage.

      One thing, at least, was to the good. Since setting up house she had been so busy that she had not had time to think about Dr Kerr, the Governor or Tom Dilhorne, or whether or not she ought to speak to Emancipists. Their luggage had to be unpacked, their meals overseen, and John’s comfort to be satisfied. He had no intention of looking after himself since in England he had never needed to; a highly trained staff had ministered to his every want. By contrast, in Sydney, all that they had in the way of servants were Mrs Hackett, two unwilling, untrained females and John’s man, Carter.

      She returned to her writing desk and tried to continue her letter to Emily.

      ‘You would scarcely believe,’ she wrote, ‘how primitive we are here. All that distinguishes us from the Pomona is that the deck no longer heaves beneath our feet…’

      She sneezed and looked around the tiny room. Dust was everywhere. Nellie Riley suddenly burst in, waving a feather mop and began to use it with great vigour—which only served to waft it around the room in a red cloud. This started Sarah sneezing again.

      ‘Sorry, Mum,’ said Nellie, looking anything but sorry. ‘Mrs Hackett was telling me to begin me duties by cleaning the room since it hadn’t been done for days.’

      Her