She knew nothing about the interiors of grand homes during the goldrush era of the 1860s, but she’d have bet anything this was a faithful reproduction, with its
gleaming wooden furniture, richly patterned floral wallpaper, thick rugs on polished floorboards, all the walls covered in portraits, landscapes and still lifes. Throughout the house everyday items like vases, lamps, hardback books-, even an elegant hairbrush and mirror set, were arranged on top of chests of drawers and sideboards, as though they had just that moment been used. The kitchen had cutlery, china bowls, wooden utensils and what looked like freshly picked vegetables on the long table, oldfashioned jars and bottles on the shelves,
even an apron and a flour-covered rolling pin lying waiting. It all looked right. It felt right. And somehow, despite the whole oddness of the situation, the Templeton family members were making her feel as though she’d just casually wandered into a day in their life.
As she toured the house, sometimes one of the costumed women would be in the room, playing the piano or sitting quietly, embroidering, looking up at her with a smile. In one of the front rooms - the morning room, she heard someone call it - the littlest girl was playing with a spinning top toy that also looked as though it was from the previous century.
It was in the dining room that the spell was broken. Nina thought at first it was Eleanor, Henry Templeton’s wife, but she remembered the red dress, and realised it was the sister-in-law. Hope, was that her name? Another visitor, clearly throwing herself into the spirit of the occasion, had asked where all the servants were.
Hope looked a little bored by the question, but answered it all the same, in a languid, refined voice. ‘We had one maid, a young Irish woman, but she wasn’t to be trusted. That’s been the trouble with life here in the colonies, all sorts of riffraff made it here and of all of them the Irish are the least trustworthy. Quite dishonest, in fact. It’s in their blood. The Italians are as bad.’
Perhaps the woman was trying to be funny. Perhaps it was an authentic replica of the thinking of the time. But it burst a bubble for Nina. In that minute, the setting, the whole pantomime aspect of the house ceased to be entertainment for her. She wanted to object. My name is Nina Therese Donovan, nee Kelly, and I find your comments offensive. She could imagine her father urging her to speak up. He was proud of his Irish heritage. Hope was still talking. ‘The Chinese are just as dishonest. Thieves, most of them.’
Two women beside Nina, both of Asian appearance, looked as angry as she was feeling.
‘If it was up to me, I’d bring all our staff out from England. Though that’s as bad as anywhere else now. Immigration laws too lax. They let anyone in, more Indians around my house than in India these days. As for the blacks ‘
Glancing around, Nina could see the group was a multicultural one.
‘You might think I’m exaggerating,’ Hope was saying, ‘but you should see some of the streets in London near where I used to live. You wouldn’t think you were in England.’
‘That’s enough.’ Nina spoke up then, conscious of the red flush flooding into her cheeks. ‘I don’t care if you’re playing a role here, but what you’re saying is racist and offensive.’
‘I’m telling the truth and if you don’t like it, then leave.’
A man entered the dining room behind her. ‘You’re asking one of our guests to leave? My dear Hope, what is happening here?’ It was Henry Templeton.
‘I’m just explaining the situation here and back home and this woman seems to be taking offence,’ Hope said, her voice sulky. Henry turned his -full attention to Nina. ‘My dear, I’m so sorry! Tell me, what’s your name?’
‘It doesn’t matter what my name is,’ Nina said. ‘Her name’s Nina Donovan,’ Tom said beside her. ‘Donovan? A fine Irish name.’
‘Don’t you
gleaming wooden furniture, richly patterned floral wallpaper, thick rugs on polished floorboards, all the walls covered in portraits, landscapes and still lifes. Throughout the house everyday items like vases, lamps, hardback books-, even an elegant hairbrush and mirror set, were arranged on top of chests of drawers and sideboards, as though they had just that moment been used. The kitchen had cutlery, china bowls, wooden utensils and what looked like freshly picked vegetables on the long table, oldfashioned jars and bottles on the shelves,
even an apron and a flour-covered rolling pin lying waiting. It all looked right. It felt right. And somehow, despite the whole oddness of the situation, the Templeton family members were making her feel as though she’d just casually wandered into a day in their life.
As she toured the house, sometimes one of the costumed women would be in the room, playing the piano or sitting quietly, embroidering, looking up at her with a smile. In one of the front rooms - the morning room, she heard someone call it - the littlest girl was playing with a spinning top toy that also looked as though it was from the previous century.
It was in the dining room that the spell was broken. Nina thought at first it was Eleanor, Henry Templeton’s wife, but she remembered the red dress, and realised it was the sister-in-law. Hope, was that her name? Another visitor, clearly throwing herself into the spirit of the occasion, had asked where all the servants were.
Hope looked a little bored by the question, but answered it all the same, in a languid, refined voice. ‘We had one maid, a young Irish woman, but she wasn’t to be trusted. That’s been the trouble with life here in the colonies, all sorts of riffraff made it here and of all of them the Irish are the least trustworthy. Quite dishonest, in fact. It’s in their blood. The Italians are as bad.’
Perhaps the woman was trying to be funny. Perhaps it was an authentic replica of the thinking of the time. But it burst a bubble for Nina. In that minute, the setting, the whole pantomime aspect of the house ceased to be entertainment for her. She wanted to object. My name is Nina Therese Donovan, nee Kelly, and I find your comments offensive. She could imagine her father urging her to speak up. He was proud of his Irish heritage. Hope was still talking. ‘The Chinese are just as dishonest. Thieves, most of them.’
Two women beside Nina, both of Asian appearance, looked as angry as she was feeling.
‘If it was up to me, I’d bring all our staff out from England. Though that’s as bad as anywhere else now. Immigration laws too lax. They let anyone in, more Indians around my house than in India these days. As for the blacks ‘
Glancing around, Nina could see the group was a multicultural one.
‘You might think I’m exaggerating,’ Hope was saying, ‘but you should see some of the streets in London near where I used to live. You wouldn’t think you were in England.’
‘That’s enough.’ Nina spoke up then, conscious of the red flush flooding into her cheeks. ‘I don’t care if you’re playing a role here, but what you’re saying is racist and offensive.’
‘I’m telling the truth and if you don’t like it, then leave.’
A man entered the dining room behind her. ‘You’re asking one of our guests to leave? My dear Hope, what is happening here?’ It was Henry Templeton.
‘I’m just explaining the situation here and back home and this woman seems to be taking offence,’ Hope said, her voice sulky. Henry turned his -full attention to Nina. ‘My dear, I’m so sorry! Tell me, what’s your name?’
‘It doesn’t matter what my name is,’ Nina said. ‘Her name’s Nina Donovan,’ Tom said beside her. ‘Donovan? A fine Irish name.’
‘Don’t you
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