The Longest Journey by Betty McInnes

Author:Betty McInnes [Betty McInnes]
Language: eng
Format: epub
Publisher: Severn House Publishers
Published: 2012-12-11T16:00:00+00:00

Ten

In New South Wales, the travellers settled down in the strange new environment of Sydney. Town. Danny kicked off boots and socks in the attic room allocated to him and tore off the hated lace collar, safe at last from Agnes’s wrath. Danny’s room faced the main street and Mary-Ann had feared it might prove noisy, though Danny had been known to sleep through thunderstorms.

He loved this room. Danny lost no time opening the skylight and leaning out to view passers-by on the street. Wouldn’t the girls be jealous!

‘Ouch!’ He soon leaped back inside. The metal was burning hot beneath a blazing sun.

Agnes was grousing about the other attic room that she and Shona shared. It overlooked a courtyard with communal well, row of privies and washing lines.

‘Why can’t we have the view Danny has?’ she moaned.

Shona unpinned her hair, letting it fall around her shoulders. She studied the effect in the glass with pleasure.

‘No doubt Mama had my honour in mind,’ she said smugly. ‘A lover could easily signal from the street, and Gideon Jones couldn’t take his eyes off me.’

Agnes scowled.

‘He’s a flirt. He gave me the wink too.’

‘He must’ve had dust in his eye and been half-blind.’

Agnes flung a hairbrush furiously, with accurate aim.

‘Oww! You horrible little beast,’ her sister howled.

Downstairs, Mary-Ann sighed. Her daughters were forever squabbling, and the rows threatened to become more heated the older they grew. It would have been wiser to separate the two, but she and Louisa Polpatrick occupied the two main bedrooms above the shop.

Shutting her ears to the quarrel, Mary-Ann returned to the letter she was writing, seated in the parlour on the ground floor, behind the shop premises.

She had already written to Matthew, telling him they had arrived safely and found comfortable lodgings. She had ended the letter lovingly, with a confident assurance that Papa and Davey would soon be found and returned to the bosom of the family. She made no mention of money, or lack of it.

With that letter sealed, she had braced herself to write another, this time to Alistair Ross, as promised. She gave a brief account of the voyage, making light of storms, discomfort, a monotonous diet, and heat. She told him that they were well housed in Sydney and she had made friends with an amiable lady. She paused, wondering whether to mention the business venture, and decided against it. It would sound even more risky when set down on paper.

Instead, she wrote cannily: ‘I plan to find employment to keep me occupied while searching for Ewan and David within the confines of the town. I may have good news for you in that direction, very soon . . .’

After some hesitation she ended, ‘I am, sir, yours sincerely, Mary-Ann Macgregor.

It sounded cool and formal but what else could she write? Her true state of mind would make strange reading: In tears, alone in a strange land, longing for a husband’s comfort and strength, grieving for a first love’s lost friendship. Confused and very lonely – Mary-Ann.

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