his furniture purchased in Venice and Berlin, the grand oil paintings and Italian marble fireplaces, the French clocks, and costly porcelain. She almost forgot the unhappy subject of convicts and poverty.
Someone asked her if she sang or played the piano. When she assented, everyone begged for a song. It really was like a pleasant social evening at Lichfield Court. She could almost have believed Sarah sat in the shadows listening to her, waiting to applaud. Eugenia had a pleasant light tuneful voice, and even without Sarah, there was plenty of applause. Eugenia heard Gilbert saying, ‘Yes, she sings very well,’ and when Mrs Wentworth asked him if it were her voice he had fallen in love with, he answered, ‘It is a distinct asset, don’t you agree?’
She touched his arm with her fan a little later, when he was standing a moment alone.
‘Do you give me marks for my assets?’ she asked playfully. ‘So many for my singing voice, so many for my ability to dance or to paint or sew, so many for my taste in dress? And later, of course, when I am more knowledgeable, so many for my ability to recognize a good wine?’
Her voice was light and teasing. She really was enjoying the evening immensely, and at this moment it didn’t matter that Gilbert might have totted up marks in his mind. So long as she came near the maximum for a desirable wife, she was content. Wasn’t this how the most successful marriages were made ? Even if that warm spontaneous flash she had caught in Gilbert’s eyes across the dinner-table had meant more to her than a cool tally of her worth.
Gilbert did not respond to her teasing manner, but said seriously, ‘Everyone likes you. You are doing very well.’
‘I am not as pretty as they expected.’ She had noticed the other women looking at her assessingly.
‘You have a good colour tonight. It becomes you.’ He smiled, patted her hand, led her across the room to speak to someone else.
A good colour, she thought. Like one of his wines. If he could, he would hold her up to the light and study her for possible flaws. But he was pleased with her tonight. She remembered again that look in his eye at dinner… She was sorry the evening was over so quickly.
‘Miss Lichfield, do tell us what you are to wear at your wedding. Or is it a deep secret?’
In the privacy of the bedroom upstairs, the ladies gathered round her again. With the journey home and every day life to face, they forgot their party manners and began to speak more plainly. Eugenia found herself abruptly back in a strange country where servants could not be trusted, where children got unaccountable illnesses that carried them off with savage suddenness, where decent clothes, water, even sometimes food, was scarce. Where an escaped convict or a party of roaming blacks with spears could terrorize lonely country farms, where a bushfire might rage over thousands of acres in a day or the terrible summer heat turn the small cottages into ovens.
Above all, there was the violence of the criminal classes. That case last night, for instance. Everyone was talking about it. The woman whose husband had been shot protested innocence, but of course no one believed her. She was obviously a street woman, otherwise why had she lured the two men on? The truth was that she hadn’t expected her husband, elderly and sick, to put up any opposition. Probably she had hoped to creep into the house with her followers, without waking him. Who knew how often she had done such a thing before?
When Eugenia was engaging servants she must be especially careful. Mind you, it was difficult to get a woman who hadn’t a criminal record, but some were anxious to redeem themselves, and could be kept honest, if constantly watched. The younger the girl, the better. Once in her twenties the creature had become hardened.
There was nothing for it but to tell them. They would hear soon enough. She had known all the time that she had had no real intention of opposing
Someone asked her if she sang or played the piano. When she assented, everyone begged for a song. It really was like a pleasant social evening at Lichfield Court. She could almost have believed Sarah sat in the shadows listening to her, waiting to applaud. Eugenia had a pleasant light tuneful voice, and even without Sarah, there was plenty of applause. Eugenia heard Gilbert saying, ‘Yes, she sings very well,’ and when Mrs Wentworth asked him if it were her voice he had fallen in love with, he answered, ‘It is a distinct asset, don’t you agree?’
She touched his arm with her fan a little later, when he was standing a moment alone.
‘Do you give me marks for my assets?’ she asked playfully. ‘So many for my singing voice, so many for my ability to dance or to paint or sew, so many for my taste in dress? And later, of course, when I am more knowledgeable, so many for my ability to recognize a good wine?’
Her voice was light and teasing. She really was enjoying the evening immensely, and at this moment it didn’t matter that Gilbert might have totted up marks in his mind. So long as she came near the maximum for a desirable wife, she was content. Wasn’t this how the most successful marriages were made ? Even if that warm spontaneous flash she had caught in Gilbert’s eyes across the dinner-table had meant more to her than a cool tally of her worth.
Gilbert did not respond to her teasing manner, but said seriously, ‘Everyone likes you. You are doing very well.’
‘I am not as pretty as they expected.’ She had noticed the other women looking at her assessingly.
‘You have a good colour tonight. It becomes you.’ He smiled, patted her hand, led her across the room to speak to someone else.
A good colour, she thought. Like one of his wines. If he could, he would hold her up to the light and study her for possible flaws. But he was pleased with her tonight. She remembered again that look in his eye at dinner… She was sorry the evening was over so quickly.
‘Miss Lichfield, do tell us what you are to wear at your wedding. Or is it a deep secret?’
In the privacy of the bedroom upstairs, the ladies gathered round her again. With the journey home and every day life to face, they forgot their party manners and began to speak more plainly. Eugenia found herself abruptly back in a strange country where servants could not be trusted, where children got unaccountable illnesses that carried them off with savage suddenness, where decent clothes, water, even sometimes food, was scarce. Where an escaped convict or a party of roaming blacks with spears could terrorize lonely country farms, where a bushfire might rage over thousands of acres in a day or the terrible summer heat turn the small cottages into ovens.
Above all, there was the violence of the criminal classes. That case last night, for instance. Everyone was talking about it. The woman whose husband had been shot protested innocence, but of course no one believed her. She was obviously a street woman, otherwise why had she lured the two men on? The truth was that she hadn’t expected her husband, elderly and sick, to put up any opposition. Probably she had hoped to creep into the house with her followers, without waking him. Who knew how often she had done such a thing before?
When Eugenia was engaging servants she must be especially careful. Mind you, it was difficult to get a woman who hadn’t a criminal record, but some were anxious to redeem themselves, and could be kept honest, if constantly watched. The younger the girl, the better. Once in her twenties the creature had become hardened.
There was nothing for it but to tell them. They would hear soon enough. She had known all the time that she had had no real intention of opposing
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