The famine orphans, p.15
The Famine Orphans, page 15
We all shuffled around. Mary, Bridie, Patsy, and I were joined by two of the Earl Grey girls whom Patsy had befriended. We were the first group to go downstairs.
“Follow me,” Matron said. “Remember, speak only when you are spoken to, and answer all questions clearly but briefly. And for goodness’ sake, stand up straight!”
The hiring room was light and airy as the morning sun streamed in the windows. Matron led us over to one side of the room and told us to wait. She then opened wide a set of double doors, allowing the crowd of people waiting in the hallway to flood in. We stared at them in awe. Women in fashionable dresses and large hats came close to inspect us, looking us up and down as if picking out the best cut of meat. There were other women, more plainly dressed, with sour, pinched faces. I took them to be housekeepers sent on behalf of their mistresses. I bowed my head, as if to hide from them.
“Look at me, not at your feet,” one of them said as she roughly lifted my chin up with bony fingers.
I did as she said, holding down my temper. She had an Irish brogue. Was this any way to treat your countrymen? I thought.
Greatly outnumbered by women, most of the men looked prosperous, with high-collared shirts, colorful cravats, fine, silk frock coats, and top hats. Some had pocket watches on chains hanging from their waistcoats, and some carried gold-knobbed canes. I thought maybe we should be flattered that they’d chosen to wear such finery to visit us. But there were also other, rougher looking men, dressed in loose cotton trousers and wide-brimmed, slouching hats. The men examined us as closely as the women had. Some asked us to turn around, their eyes lingering on certain parts of our bodies. There was something in their manner, a hint of entitled ownership, that made me shiver.
Matron and her assistant waited attentively to identify any girl in whom a patron had shown interest. Mary was summoned first. I suspected it was because she looked so fair and innocent and, I thought, with her blond curls and pink cheeks, more British than the rest of us. I couldn’t hear what she was saying, but I saw her shake her head defiantly as she was being questioned by several men and women. It was only when a stout woman in a nun’s habit approached her that she began to smile and nod.
Soon Bridie was called. She moved forward calmly, as was her way. I edged closer so I could hear what was being said. A carelessly dressed, burly man with a red face pointed at her.
“A big, strapping girl like her would be a fine asset on my farm,” he told Matron. “I’ll take her.”
Bridie answered him in Irish. I didn’t understand what she said but he glowered at her. “Never mind,” he told Matron. “This one has too much of a mouth on her. I’ll wait for the next lot!”
Several of the women turned to each other. “Another one without a word of English,” they grumbled.
I wanted to shout at them that Bridie was a refined girl who knew more than all of them put together about how to run a genteel household. Were we to be hired or dismissed merely on the way we looked? I thought again of the articles I had read about resentment towards Irish-speaking Catholic girls.
One of the fashionably dressed women moved close to Bridie.
“Bridie O’Sullivan?” she inquired.
She was a tall, handsome, middle-aged woman, erect and with thick, glossy black hair swept up beneath her elegant bonnet. She wore a long-sleeved, rose-colored day dress with a high neckline, and a narrowly-cut skirt which showed off her shapely figure. She studied Bridie with calculating, dark eyes, then looked down at a pamphlet she held. “I see here you have experience working for the English gentry in an Irish manor house?”
Matron jumped to attention. “Mrs. Pitt, may I point out that Bridie has extensive experience working in a manor house in Ireland, called Muckross House, owned by a well-respected member of the British Parliament, Mr. Henry Arthur Herbert. I’m told the house has sixty-five rooms and entertains the best society in Europe.” She giggled nervously. “I imagine it’s the sort of house dear Queen Victoria herself might one day visit. I think Bridie would be a great asset to your fine house. She would require very little training.”
“Except for the fact that she doesn’t speak English,” said Mrs. Pitt doubtfully.
Bridie looked at Matron and then pointed towards me. “She’s teaching me,” she said in English.
Mrs. Pitt’s rouged lips fell open. “So you do speak it!”
“Yes, but only a little bit,” said Bridie.
At first, I was confused. Bridie certainly knew more than a “little bit” of English. Why was she pretending otherwise? Perhaps she had taken a dislike to Mrs. Pitt. And then it dawned on me—she was doing it for my sake!
Mrs. Pitt pointed at me, and Matron called me forward. She took a deep breath and looked down at the papers in her hand. “This is Kathleen Gilvarry, from the North of Ireland,” she began.
Mrs. Pitt perked up. “A Protestant, then?” she said hopefully.
“My mother was,” I replied.
I could have lied and said I was Protestant, too, but I wasn’t about to deny who and what I was.
Matron spoke again. “She reads and writes in English as well as speaking it,” she said, “and has taught a number of girls both in the workhouse and on the ship to do so.”
“Age? Experience?”
“Sixteen,” I said before Matron could reply. “And no, I have not been trained as a domestic servant. I am educated, however, and was hoping to train as a teacher before the famine came. I am a quick learner, however, and—”
Mrs. Pitt waved her hand at me impatiently. “Yes, yes!” she said.
She studied me some more while Bridie stood by silently.
“I like this one.” She pointed to Bridie. “I do a great deal of entertaining. I am, in fact, a prominent hostess in Sydney. My husband, Major Pitt, is, as everyone knows, a relative of William Pitt, who was prime minister of Great Britain, and after whom Pitt Street in the city was named.” She paused and sighed. “So, you can understand that I am held to a very high standard by Sydney society—a standard that is as high as any to be found in our dear Mother England!”
When she had finished speaking, no one moved. She cleared her throat. “Well, then, to get back to business. I had not planned to hire two girls. Major Pitt and I had agreed that one would be enough to show our support for our Governor FitzRoy in his immigration endeavors. But”—she looked at Bridie—“I will not get the best out of this girl if she doesn’t understand what I’m saying.” She turned to me. “I suppose I’ll have to take you as well. Mind you, you will not just be an interpreter, you will be expected to pull your weight at any tasks our housekeeper demands.” She sniffed. “At least your mother was a Protestant, which suggests you were brought up with proper standards!”
Bridie and I looked at each other and then at Matron. It was clear to me that we were not being given much of a choice in the matter.
“Prepare the details,” Mrs. Pitt said to Matron. “I will arrange transportation for them both, tomorrow morning at nine sharp.”
And, without another word, she swept out.
Matron looked around the room, then clapped her hands and pointed to our group. “You girls may go now. Please send down the next group.”
Neither Patsy nor the two Earl Grey girls had been hired. They rushed ahead of us up the stairs to the dormitory.
“Did you hear that oul’ feller ask me if I was a virgin? The bloody cheek of him!” said Patsy. “I told him where to go, so I did!”
“I’ll not be putting meself through that again,” said one of the Earl Grey girls. “I’ve had me fill of oul’ lechers pawing at me. I’d rather make me own way beyond on the streets!”
She brushed away tears with a rough gesture and threw herself face down on her bed.
I wanted to reassure Patsy that this was just the first round—that there’d be plenty more chances to be hired, but the angry look on her face silenced me.
* * *
We were finishing the evening meal when I heard a familiar voice in the corridor outside the dining room. My heart leaped. It was Nathaniel. Thank God he had arrived before Bridie and I left. Just then the door opened, and Matron called my name. I almost knocked over my chair in my haste to answer. She gave me a suspicious look.
“Doctor Harte wants to speak with you. Please do not dawdle.”
I rushed out the door and stopped in alarm at the sight of Nathaniel standing in the dimly lit hallway. He looked weary and unkempt. Dark circles curved under his eyes and a rough stubble covered his usually clean-shaven chin. He looked as if he hadn’t slept in days. He must have registered my alarm, for he smiled then and came towards me.
“Ah, Kate,” he said. “It is good to see you.” He turned to the matron. “May I have a private word with Miss Gilvarry, Matron?”
“As long as it does not take long, Doctor,” she said stiffly. “Lights-out is in less than an hour.” She pointed to a door. “You may use my office.”
I settled myself on a sofa in the small room, while Nathaniel sat down opposite me, his legs stretched out, ankles crossed. I yearned suddenly for the comfort and the privacy of his cabin on the Sabine.
“I hear you and Bridie have been hired by Mrs. Pitt,” he said. “Well done!”
I smiled. “It was Bridie’s doing. She pretended she needed my help with English even though we both knew better.”
He laughed. “Then you are greatly in her debt.”
“I’ll only know that after we get to Mrs. Pitt’s house,” I retorted. “She may have tricked me into hell for all I know.”
Nathaniel shook his head. “From what I understand, Mrs. Pitt is rather obsessed with appearances. I think if you and Bridie keep that in mind, you will fare well. Besides, the Pitts are not only wealthy, but well regarded in Sydney. And while it may not be heaven, the Pitt House will not be hell!”
He smiled again. “I understand Mary has been indentured to the Sisters of Charity as a domestic servant?”
I nodded. “I think it’s perfect for her.”
“And Patsy?”
I shook my head. “No luck today, but there’s always tomorrow.”
He nodded but said nothing.
“So, tell me how it went in Moreton Bay,” I said, changing the subject. “Have you found places for Sheila and Lizzie?”
“Yes. I was able to place all the girls whom I escorted up there. Moreton Bay was just as I thought, a barren, unwelcoming place. But the settlers there seem to be good, solid people, and they are in urgent need of help.” He grinned. “And much less picky than the good people of Sydney.”
I waited for him to go on.
“Sheila was easy enough to place. A young couple, an English prisoner who has earned his ticket-of-leave, and his wife, have opened a shop selling drapery goods. Sheila, as you remember, is an excellent seamstress, and from her work in the mill is well versed in handling fabrics.”
“And Lizzie?”
“Yes, well that was more of a challenge. Just as I was losing hope, I met a Methodist minister and his wife, recently moved there. They are a very dignified couple who are unable to have children.”
A shrill alarm rang through me. I feared what might be coming.
“I was open with them about her condition and I spoke honestly with Lizzie. The couple agreed to take her in as a maid, and . . . well, they proposed that when the child was born Lizzie would allow them to adopt it and stay on as a maid if she so desired.
I shot up straight in my chair. “Surely Lizzie couldn’t have agreed to that!” I shouted. “She wouldn’t have agreed to give up her child!”
Nathaniel took a deep breath. “I didn’t force her,” he said, “you must believe me. I admit she fought me on it at first but, in the end, she realized it was the best for her child’s future.”
“What if she changes her mind?” I whispered, knowing of course what the answer was.
“That would be regrettable,” Nathaniel said, looking earnestly into my eyes, “but it would be her decision. She would have to be prepared to fend for herself and the child in a very lonely outpost. I hope she would think long and hard about it.”
“Sounds to me like you sold her out at the first opportunity. How could you, Nathaniel?”
He bowed his head and sighed. “I did the best I could, Kate!”
We sat in silence for a time. The bell rang for lights-out. He stood up and moved towards me, and I stood also. We were only inches apart. I could see the fatigue in his eyes, and something else, maybe longing. The annoyance I had felt with him over Lizzie faded away, and all I wanted was to throw my arms around him and beg him not to go, not to leave me alone in this place.
“Nathaniel, I—” I began.
“Shh, Kate,” he whispered as he leaned forward and put his lips on mine.
He pulled away again quickly. “I’m sorry I must go, Kate. I must leave you to find your own way now. I took on an obligation to see you and the other girls safely across the sea to Australia and see you settled.” His eyes filled with tears. “I cannot stay with you, Kate. It wouldn’t be proper for me to do so. You are young and have yet to fully experience the world.”
He reached into his pocket and took out a slip of paper. “Here is my address in England,” he said. “Please write to me sometime. Let me know how you are faring.” Just as he was about to say more, there was a sharp knock on the office door and Matron’s voice called his name.
“Doctor Harte, it is time for Miss Gilvarry to retire.”
“Of course,” he called back.
He looked at me then. “Goodbye, Kate,” he whispered. “God speed!”
I could get no words out. I merely nodded as I watched him leave. When he had gone, I pushed past Matron and hurried upstairs to the dormitory.
* * *
The sun beat down mercilessly on Bridie and me as we sat in the cart Mrs. Pitt had sent for us. The conveyance was called a “dray” and was pulled by two bullocks. A tall, broad-shouldered, silent man, wearing loose cotton trousers and jacket and a battered, slouched straw hat, pointed at us to climb into the back of the cart and sit with our travel boxes wedged at our feet. I was reminded of the journey from the Newry Workhouse to Dublin all those months ago, except that cart had been much more comfortable. It struck me that drays were more suited to carrying cargo than people. But then, after all, cargo is what we were.
Leaving Hyde Park Barracks that morning had been bittersweet. Bridie and I hugged Mary and wished her well. I was nervous that she might react badly to being separated from me for the first time since our journey began. But she smiled through her tears and I could see that she was genuinely happy with the future before her.
Patsy was another case altogether. She resisted hugs, pushing us away with curses.
“I don’t want to be hearing your oul’ palaver,” she said roughly. “Yez know as well as I do what’s ahead of us.” She looked at the two Earl Grey girls. “These girls and meself will have to look after ourselves as best we can. Sure amn’t I well used to it after my years on the streets of Newry? To think I traveled all this way only to take up living the same life as before!”
“It doesn’t have to be this way,” I began. “I told you that Sheila and Lizzie found places up in Moreton Bay . . .”
She brought her face close to mine. “Aye, so they did! But at what price? Sheila will be slaving away in the back of beyond and poor Lizzie will have to give up her child! Quite a bargain your fancy doctor struck!”
I sighed. There was nothing more to say. Patsy’s cruel honesty pierced my heart. Now, as we moved across the courtyard in the dray, I looked back and saw Patsy’s pale face pressed against the dormitory window, her untamable red curls sprouting out defiantly around her head.
Sydney’s streets were clogged with vehicles, from heavy, slow drays like ours, transporting goods of all kinds, to light, open carriages pulled by well-groomed horses, conveying well-dressed passengers out for a morning ride. Bridie and I twisted our necks staring at everything and everyone. We made our way down Macquarie Street, towards the harbor, past Hyde Park and its open lawns where a group of boys were playing cricket. On King Street we pointed in awe at the orderly, terraced buildings that lined each side of the street, housing both private residences and shops, along with hotels, warehouses, churches, and public houses. We exclaimed at such sights, and while the elegant buildings were indeed a pleasant shock, there were still some crude huts here and there, which gave us an idea of what the town had been like even a few years before. We giggled when we turned to Pitt Street, recalling how Mrs. Pitt’s chest had expanded when she told us that Pitt Street was named after her husband’s family. We passed over Bridge Street and I spotted Charlotte Place where the young nun from the Sisters of Charity had told us there was a Catholic church called St. Patrick’s. I made a mental note of it, hoping Bridie and I might go there on the following Sunday.
The driver stopped the dray at Queen’s Wharf and signaled us to wait. Just two weeks before, we had stumbled out of the boat here on our sea legs and made our way in procession up the hill to the barracks. I hadn’t dared even lift my head. Now, I looked all around me, greedy to see everything. I’d already seen the strange trees and the kangaroos, but I wasn’t prepared for the variety of animals scurrying around us, or the strange colorful birds. I had no names for any of them. Bridie pointed to a stout, furry creature clinging to the trunk of a nearby tree. He had a large head with fluffy ears and a black, round nose. His face reminded me of a baby, and I laughed aloud. As I was laughing, I was startled by a white-chested bird with brown and black markings flying in circles above me. I could have sworn he was imitating my laugh. As I listened to him, I laughed even more.
Just then Bridie gripped my arm and pointed towards the harbor. I followed her gaze. A small boat was pulling up to the wharf. I had to squint in the sunlight to make out what I was seeing and, when I found focus, I held my breath. Bridie’s eyes had grown large. Neither of us said a word as we watched a small group of men and boys climb out of the boat, carrying fishing nets and a basket of gleaming fish. The small boys were completely naked, and the men wore either scanty cloths tied about their waists, or loose trousers but no shirts. It wasn’t the lack of clothing so much that startled me, but the color of their skin. It was darker than any I had ever witnessed on a human before, and it glinted in the sun. These must be the people Nathaniel had once told us about, I thought, the people who had been in Australia for thousands of years before white men discovered it. “Aboriginals,” I remembered he called them. I wished he was here now so I could share this experience with him.
