Dorothy Eden by Vines of Yarrabee

looked at them before falling asleep, and when she had awoken to the brilliantly sunny morning she had experienced a surge of happiness and excitement.
    But now the heat of mid-afternoon was beating on the roof. Mrs Kelly had drawn the blinds to shut out the glare. The resulting dimness, instead of being cool, was airless. A constant harsh uproar from the cicadas in the garden was exacerbating to the nerves. Eugenia had to mop her damp brow. The scrap of lace handkerchief crumpled in her palm was damp and inadequate.
    And Gilbert, with that implacable look on his face, was disturbing. He had told her once that he always meant to get what he wanted. Now, for some reason, no doubt a perfectly sensible and valid one, he wanted a convict woman in his house.
    She had to admit to herself that had she heard about Mrs Jarvis in other circumstances she, too, would have had sympathy for the woman’s misfortune.
    The story of the amorous employer was entirely believable. One often enough heard such stories. In the past Eugenia and her sisters had always sympathized strongly with the unfortunate maidservants.
    So why now was she being so unreasonable? It surely couldn’t be that she was jealous of Gilbert’s sudden enthusiasm for this unfortunate woman!
    ‘But there’s to be a baby!’ she protested.
    ‘Do you not care for children?’
    That was not the point. Eugenia looked at Gilbert indignantly.
    ‘Of course I like children. But there are certain circumstances where they are not so welcome.’
    ‘Mrs Jarvis’s was conceived in wedlock. Even if it hadn’t been, there are conditions in this country that make an illegitimate child forgivable. This is not England. Or I should say it isn’t the England you know.’
    Eugenia’s eyes flashed.
    ‘You don’t need to remind me that I am fortunate in my birth and upbringing.’
    ‘But perhaps I do need to remind you of exactly that. So that you will have more sympathy for others less fortunate. Now let’s have done with the matter.’
    Eugenia’s voice grew as chilly as Gilbert’s.
    ‘If the matter has already been decided, why do you ask me to interview this woman?’
    ‘Because I had hoped I would find you completely in accord with my own feelings. I had hoped to see pity in your eyes.’
    ‘You think I am heartless!’
    ‘Not in the least. But if you could take up the cudgels for plain Jane, why not for someone in far greater need?’
    ‘I suppose because she is your protégée, not mine,’ Eugenia retorted, and then wished she had not said such an irrational, impulsive thing. For Gilbert’s annoyance had vanished in a flash and his eyes were twinkling with good humour.
    ‘My darling, I love your honesty. Were you afraid I wasn’t going to let you run your own house ? Of course I am. You are in complete charge. I have only asked you to interview this woman. If you dislike her, no more will be said, I promise. Now we are to dine with my old friend William Wentworth at Vaucluse this evening, so I want you to take that frown off your face and look your prettiest. Talk to Mrs Wentworth and the other ladies about their experiences with servants. You’ll find that by standards here Molly Jarvis is a pearl.’
    As it happened, the women at dinner that night were less interested in servants than in fashions. Every item of Eugenia’s toilette was discussed. Were her leg-o’-mutton sleeves the latest thing in London? What were the new season’s bonnets like? Had those chilly muslins with the high bustline ever come back? They had been downright shocking with their transparent appearance. One of the ladies remembered an aunt, her mother’s younger sister, coming down to dinner in one such gown, it had been so pretty, too, with rosebuds sprinkled on the gauzy material. But her shape beneath had been all too visible, and the curate, who was visiting, had abruptly left the room and never returned.
    If it hadn’t been for the close heat, and the everlasting sound of cicadas