One of my favourite parts of writing is the research entailed. Romance features in all my books which cross sub-genres, but I really love delving into the past. My Historical books are all set in Australia and the one featured here is no exception. For The Love of Faith starts in the gold mining town of Ballarat, here in my home state of Victoria. Life was certainly not easy for the people of any town in the 1860s, and was especially hard in a place where men, and sometimes women came from all parts of the world in search of that golden nugget that would make them a millionaire. The Faith of my tale shares her life with her Ma, a stern and unforgiving woman who treats her daughter more like a servant. But Faith’s life soon begins to take a new turn when a stranger arrives at their lodging house one day.

Excerpt from The Love of Faith.

Chapter One

Ballarat, Victoria. 1860

Faith quickened her pace as she neared the store, her Ma’s list clutched in her hand. This visit had become the highlight of her week, for the anticipation reached a level she could not understand. She sincerely hoped that the owner’s son, one Walter Finch would be working behind the counter. The store contained everything from cooking ingredients for the women, to shovels and hats for the men working out at the diggings, and had taken on a new pleasure in the past few months. She was at a loss to understand quite why this should be.

Previously Walt had barely passed the time of day with her until one morning as she handed her list over to George Finch, his son had come out of the back room, wiping his hands on a scrap of rag. “Finished out there, boy?” his father asked and with a nod Walt came towards Faith and smiled—and her heart was lost as he asked after her welfare and made some comment on her appearance that completely took her aback. Until that morning, no lad of similar age had shown the slightest interest in her and certainly not in her state of health.

Suddenly the one who now seemed to fill her thoughts far too often was striding towards her. Too late to step from the firmer path that had been laid down in front of the shops to protect the boots of the ladies, and to head across the street. Probably best, as after the heavy October rain overnight her only boots would soon be mud spattered, giving her Ma something new to complain about. Spare money for clothing was scarce these days according to her Ma, so these boots would need to last a few more winters.

Nothing for it now but to come face to face with him. She pulled the brim of her bonnet low over her face in an effort to cover the blush she knew was rising. Would she ever get used to the horrors attached to having a skin that her mother often likened to oatmeal? Her Ma put it down to her English background, and one of her main aims in life was to ensure that Faith kept her complexion from becoming shrivelled by the often-blazing sunshine before she reached full maturity. Her Ma had a thousand rules she lived by, far too many for Faith to keep up with at times.

Already Walter Finch was heading unerringly it seemed straight to her, so there was no escape. “Good day to you Mistress Boswell,” he said with a distinct chuckle in his voice to prove that once again he was likely set on teasing her.

“Good morning, Mister Finch,” she mumbled, side stepping to dodge his nearness. Of course, as always, he was out to confuse her by standing far too close for what good manners dictated. Often Faith considered these rules of etiquette so out of place in this land that abounded with scoundrels, hard-working miners, and bushrangers. Not that she ever had been confronted by a bushranger—but according to her Ma’s reasoning, just because she had never come across one did not mean they were not out there waiting to rob, or worse, ravish every female they met.

“You are looking particularly fetching on this dull old day, I must say, and a sight for these sore eyes.” Doffing his wide-brimmed hat Walt added a small bow, as if he was some gentleman of high breeding. According to Faith’s Ma, Walt, his father George, plus his mother Daisy, were living a pretense. Just because they owned one of the most important establishments in town—a shop that included just about everything needed by most inhabitants of the area, did not give them the right to think they were aristocracy or at least above their station in life according to her Ma.

Rather, Gertrude insisted they were no better than she was, just lower-class folk trying to earn an honest living. Faith often wondered just why, if that was her Ma’s opinion, she put on false airs and graces herself. Not that Faith would have the temerity to ask her Ma such. Faith knew Walt’s sister Florrie well, for she was of similar age and a likeable girl. Faith had also met their Mama, Daisy, and thought her kind and loving towards her family and always polite to their customers. Faith could not understand her own Ma’s reasoning. Although she insisted they were lower class, her set of rules at times commanded Faith behave as if she was a countess or of some higher rank.

“A small birdie told me that someone is nearing a special birthday. Seventeen is an age for rejoicing.” With a devilish grin, Walt bowed again, sending a lock of his thick dark hair across his forehead. As he straightened, he flicked this back carelessly.

“How so? It is just another number—nothing at all to rejoice about,” she remarked pertly, although inside she did feel that this birthday was rather special indeed. A few of the girls of similar age around the town and diggings were already wed or planning to wed their beaus by the time they reached her age. Mind you, by her Ma’s reasoning a lot of them wed for reasons of convenience rather than affection.

“By that I presume that your mother has no plans for a big celebration for her only daughter.” Faith could not be certain, but thought she heard a touch of disdain in that statement. “Florrie has been enjoying parties most of her life and our Ma would not dream of letting such an important occasion go by without at least inviting a clutch of her friends to celebrate along with her. It was she who told me that she was waiting on an invitation to your festivities.”

Faith chewed on her fingertip, unsure how to answer him. In fact, he knew that Faith had been one of the friends invited to Florrie’s sixteenth birthday celebration last year. It was on that afternoon when Walt had first seemed to realise Faith was not a silly child anymore. At the time, Faith had become confused and flummoxed by his attentions while inside she felt as if a hundred butterflies fluttered there. Because she had never attended school, as her Ma had been her only teacher, there had not been a lot of chance to mix with many of her own age, boy or girl. It had pleased her no end when Florrie befriended her after meeting her at the store one day. She did learn that day that Walt was about three years her senior, and to Faith he seemed to possess more self-assurance than she ever would.

“Ma is too busy with the many chores the lodging house demands of her to worry about celebrating the passing of a year of her daughter’s life.” Even as she said the words, Faith knew that nonetheless inside it did hurt.

“How is it that your Ma has no husband to assist her?” He put a hand on Faith’s arm as he rushed to add, “I apologise if that is too impertinent a question. But most women who arrive here in the diggings follow their menfolk, few come alone.”

“I thought it was common knowledge that my Pa died after coming here and setting up the lodging house—about three years ago.” It shamed Faith but truth was, her Pa died in a fight with a miner over a gambling debt. She never found out the whole truth as her Ma refused to talk about it—likely because she too was ashamed to admit she had married a gambling man who drank to excess.

Pa had never favoured Faith with a lot of attention, and although she knew her parents did argue a lot behind the door of their bedroom, he had never been unkind to her. As far as she knew he was not a brute of a man, but she felt that somehow her Ma did not grieve excessively over his passing. As luck would have it, she knew how to run the business, so managed adequately without him around.

“Oh. I am sorry; I am not one to listen to idle gossip.”

Although his statement sounded genuine, deep-down Faith had a suspicion that he already knew what fate befell her Pa. “I have to get on,” she said as she waved a hand.

“I do hope I haven’t upset you.” He did seem perturbed, but as Faith knew little about boys, there was a chance he was perhaps chiding her.

“My Mama will be wondering where I am if I linger too long.”

“Perhaps we will bump into each other later. I just have a small errand to run for my Pa and will then head back to the store. I presume that is where you are headed.” He nodded at the list still clutched in her hand.

“Perhaps.” Feigning nonchalance, she waved the hand holding the scrap of paper and with head bent scurried off. She had not gone far when she heard Walt greeting another young woman—one Grace Barker, daughter of the tobacconist. A feeling of something akin to jealousy swept through Faith, which was ridiculous as he obviously showed the same attention to everyone who shopped in his parent’s store. It was likely the way he had been taught. Something her Mama had taught Faith was that it was only common sense that they showed civility to everyone who was, or was likely to be, a paying customer.

That feeling of jealousy stayed with Faith as she entered the Finch’s family store. Two women waiting to be served greeted her civilly before continuing their conversations. The miners and those seeking large fortunes, who came and went as regularly as the seasons, were the ones Mama warned her not to socialise with. Not that Faith would readily have a chance to mingle with such folk, for her Ma ensured that she kept well away from the diggings or drinking establishments that these types seemed to throng to when not slogging away at their digs.

To her disappointment, Walt did not return while she was being served by Daisy Finch. “We’ll have the order delivered first thing,” Mrs. Finch said as Faith turned to go, after spending a few moments more chatting to Florrie who was in the process of arranging tins on a shelf.

“Thank you, and good day to you.” Mother and daughter waved her on her way and even though Faith knew she would likely get a lashing from her Ma’s tongue for being away for so long, she dawdled home in the hope that she would bump into Walt again. There was still a chance that he would likely make their delivery in the morning, and that thought sustained her.

“You took your time, my girl,” her Ma scolded the moment Faith entered and removed her bonnet. “There are a million chores awaiting and you have been dallying—no doubt chatting foolishly to that Florrie, a brainless chit if ever there was one.”

“But you taught me to be polite to folk, Mama, and I could not rush away when she so obviously wanted to talk. And she is not brainless at all, but very polite and easy to talk to.”

“Piffle.” Muttering to herself, her Ma went on into the kitchen where their cook, Bertha, was preparing dinner for the residents. Miners and their families who had been at the diggings for any length of time were mostly now settled in their makeshift homes made of bark, but some newcomers still lived in tents, the thought of which made Faith shudder. How they survived the cold nights in winter she could not imagine. The ones who stayed in their lodging house were mostly travellers passing through town or newcomers who hadn’t yet staked their claim. A widow woman in her middle years who had been here a few months, had lost her husband before he had time to stake his claim, and currently she was their only long-term boarder.

“Don’t let your Ma upset you, dearie,” Bertha advised as she stirred a pot on the stove. “She worries about you, too many rough sorts passing through town.” With a heavy sigh, she put the stirring spoon down and patted Faith on the arm. “How about a warm drink, it’s a bit chilly out there today.” Without waiting for an answer, she placed the kettle on the stove top. It might have been chilly out on the street but so much heat came from the fire blazing in the old stove that it was as warm as a mid-summer day here in the kitchen.

Faith nodded. “I’ll just pop along to my room and take off my jacket.” She went out and along the passage to the room she shared with her Ma at the back of the house. Just about the smallest room in the house, it was cramped and stuffy with a tiny window high up on the outer wall, so therefore unsuitable for the paying customers. Apart from the two narrow beds, they shared a dresser and a table just large enough to hold a small mirror. The cupboard was barely large enough for their sparse clothing, so depending on the season, some of their few outfits were tucked away in a chest in the tiny space beneath the stairs.

With a sigh, Faith stared at her face in the scratched mirror, as she longed once again for a room to call her own. Before Pa passed, she had slept in this room alone and relished it, but now the room her parents had shared was kept for the guests.

Later as Faith, Ma and Bertha sat at the kitchen table eating their meal, once the residents had all been served, Faith asked tentatively, “Mama, would it be possible to invite a few of my friends for afternoon tea to celebrate my birthday with me?”

“Whatever for?” Her Mama’s tone did not bode well for a satisfactory outcome.

“Well, I was invited to Florrie Finch’s birthday party and thought it would be nice to return the invitation, seeing as I am turning seventeen.”

“What has that got to do with anything?” she snapped. Faith stared down at her plate, wondering once again why it was that her Ma had become so bitter. Of course, becoming a widow when you were just on thirty years of age must have been difficult, but some of the women who shared the diggings with their menfolk were on their second husbands, so she heard, when their first was killed when a shaft collapsed on them, or similar tragedies. Also, it wasn’t as if her Ma was heartbroken at her loss. There were times when Faith suspected that her own birth was not particularly a cause for joy either.

“Oh, that would be lovely, dearie; I could bake a nice special cake and add a few delicacies, Missus.” Bertha grinned at the prospect as she looked across at her employer. “And what about inviting that nice young man, Florrie’s brother, what’s his name?”

“Walter?” Faith felt her cheeks hot up as she blurted out his name without thinking. Her Ma’s face seemed to stiffen even more than usual as she stared at them both as if they had suggested inviting the Governor and his wife.

As if suddenly reaching a decision, her Mama said, “Well I suppose you could invite the three of them, but no more, mind, we don’t want the house full of young people and their accompanying noise to disturb the residents.”

Bertha seemed just as surprised as Faith by this change of mind and said as she rubbed her hands together, “Lovely, tell me what cakes you would like, Faith dear, and what day you want to invite your friends and I will plan a nice feast.”

Gertrude muttered something but no more was said as they finished their meal. As they cleared the table in the guests’ dining room, a knock came on the front door. In the process of carrying dishes out to the kitchen, Gert said over a shoulder, “Answer that Faith. Lord knows who would be calling at this time of night.”

Faith nodded as she went out and along the passage. It was barely nine o clock and often people turned up at all odd hours depending on when they arrived in town, so as usual her Ma’s retort seemed to have no reasoning behind it. “Yes, can I be of assistance,” she asked of the tall stranger who stood on the step, his face barely discernible in the fading light.

His voice was pleasant, denoting a person of good breeding as he said, “I am seeking one Gertrude Boswell, and was informed I might find her residing here.”

“Oh, yes, that is my Mama, step inside and I will tell her she has a visitor.” Once he was in the hallway, she beckoned adding, “Come into the parlour—well it is not such really but the best place for you to wait. Would you care to take a seat?” As she faced him, she noticed that aside from him having pleasant features and being clean-shaven, he had a certain puzzled look on his face that she could not quite understand.

Without answering her question, he said, “So you are Gertrude’s daughter, are you? Do you mind if I ask how old you are, my dear?” He now held his felt hat in his hand and gestured towards her with it, as he asked this question.

Faith stared up at him as he still stood just inside the door, wondering what that had to do with anything. The next fleeting thought was that he might be a man of the law or like seeking her mother for past misdemeanors. That thought fled just as swiftly, as she scoffed at herself for even thinking that her pious Ma could ever have done anything that would incur the wrath of the law. “I am looking forward to my seventeenth birthday within a week or two, but would you mind me asking why that would be of interest to you, sir?”

Before he had a chance to answer, her Ma appeared at the door, a cloth in her hands that she was using to dry them. She took one look at the stranger, muttered in a shocked whisper, “Bryce, is that you?” and collapsed in a heap on the floor.

Faith and this man who could be Bryce as she had called him, both fell to their knees at her side, and Faith patted her Ma’s cheek as she pleaded with her to wake up. The stranger picked her up with care and lay her on the one sofa in the room. Bewildered, Faith stood by. Never in her life had she seen her Ma in any way incapable of standing on her own two feet. Now she was scared. If just seeing this man sent her into a faint, then he obviously was not a bearer of good news but something dire.

As her Mama opened her eyes and as swiftly as she had fainted sat up yanking at the hem of her skirt to ensure her ankles were covered, she demanded in an aggrieved tone, “What do you want, Bryce Witherton? How dare you turn up at my house without invitation or warning? Get out.” With that order she pointed to the door, stood, shook the hand directed at him, and shouted, “Get out—now.”

Chapter Two

“Can we not talk awhile like old friends, Gertrude?” he asked as he stepped back a pace or two and picked up the hat he had discarded.

“Old friends?” she shouted, so loud that Bertha appeared at the parlour door, looking distressed. Gert looked her way and ordered in a tone that could not be ignored, “Get back to your dishes.”

As Bertha scampered out of the room, Faith looked up to the man who now seemed even taller as he stiffened his broad shoulders as he said, “Surely you have forgiven me after all these years, I was just as young and foolish as you, and had no part in your dismissal. Surely you realised that it was all down to my mother, and sadly she has passed on just six months ago.”

A glimmer of the meaning of his visit began to dawn on Faith. Her Ma did not talk a lot about her past life but had told her years ago that she met Faith’s Pa after she left the family that she originally came to the colonies with when she was a child of twelve. Her own parents perished after catching cholera and so she was picked out from an orphanage by the woman she then worked for—a woman it seems was this man’s mother.

“Forgiven you?” Gert’s voice now rose to almost a screech. “That, my good man is something I will never do.” Suddenly remembering that Faith was still in the room, she waved a hand his way again, and repeated, “Get out and never return. There is no reason for you to disturb our lives again.” She then walked to the door, opened it wide and pointed towards the passageway.

As he reached her at the door, he nodded in Faith’s direction as he waved his hat towards her and said, “I would say, dear woman, that we have a very good reason to meet again.” He sighed, twisted the hat around in his fingers and added, “My mother bequeathed me a substantial legacy—not exactly a fortune—but enough to see me live out my life in comfort, and as yet I have found no one who suits to share my life with. I am assuming this girl here who is approaching womanhood does not know the full story so I will leave that for you to discuss with her.”

He went to walk out but then faced Gert again, saying softly, “I have a room at the Royal Hotel and intend to stay there for a while. Should you change your mind about sparing me a short few moments of your time, I await your presence eagerly.” Faith trailed behind her Ma as she followed him to the door. He opened it and turned back to add, “I am happy that you seem to have made a good life for yourself and child Gertrude, but I am certain I could make life a lot easier for both of you should you change your mind.”

“We are perfectly happy and contented with the life we have, and do not need your help or that of any man, thank you. Goodbye.” She waved him through the door, slamming it shut as he cleared the step.

“Mama, just who was that man?” Faith dared to ask as they both went back to the kitchen where Bertha was donning her coat, about to go home to the house a short walk away that she shared with her son.

“Good night to you both,” she said as she sent Faith a smile, before hurrying out.

Gertrude waited until the door closed behind her before saying to Faith, “Never you mind, my girl. No sense in denying that I knew him before I met your Pa, but why he should have the idea that I have a need to let him intrude on our lives I cannot fathom.” She fussed about for a few minutes moving things that Bertha had already put in their correct place. “Turn down the lamp and let us get to our beds, girl. I am sorely worn after all the bother.” Faith noticed that her Ma’s cheeks were still flushed from the confrontation but knew too well that it was useless to ask more questions at this time.

Faith lay in her narrow cot and stared up at the dim ceiling. The man who rented the room above theirs stomped about for a few moments before the house went quiet. What the stranger Bryce had hinted at went around and around in her head. It seemed plain that her Ma was dismissed from the house she had called home for quite a few years, but just why? This Bryce was of similar age so must have been involved somehow in the dismissal. “Mama, why were you dismissed,” she dared to ask, but was not surprised when she got no response. Her Ma was either asleep or feigning slumber.

Unlike other girls of her age, Faith had been well taught by her Ma, who told her that for a few years she had shared lessons with the son of the house. Lessons given by a tutor in the big house where she worked and that was why she was so well-versed in letters and numbers. It now seemed obvious that she likely shared the schooling with this man Bryce.

Thumping at her pillow, Faith turned over and tried to sleep, but slumber evaded her, and she lay for hours with thoughts going over and over in her brain. Despite her Ma’s objections to the stranger, Faith felt strangely drawn to him. An emotion she found unsettling. One thing was certain; she sincerely hoped he would not give up his pursuit.

Her Ma was still a young woman in her prime, so why did she live her life as if it was almost over. The life she had made for them was surely a good one compared to some, but none the less was one of endless toil. If he could offer them a better life without this daily grind of cleaning and running after their lodgers, then why did her Ma not even consider it?

Murky light was creeping in through the tiny window when she opened her eyes. Her Ma’s bed was empty. They usually rose at daybreak so that was not unusual. What was unusual was that her Ma had not given her a shake as she normally did. Faith climbed out of bed and shivered as she pulled her clothes on hastily and re-braided her hair. The spring days were brightening but the mornings could still be chilly.

Bertha was already in the kitchen when Faith went in to wash her hands and face in the tin basin of warmed water Bertha kindly left for her in the sink. “Morning dearie, your Ma’s gone up top to see to the old duck up there.” She jerked a thumb towards the ceiling. Their one current permanent guest was a woman of middle age who needed help in the mornings at times with her dressing due to her aches and pains. Usually, Ma sent Faith up there to perform this chore. “Did she say anything about the visitor after I left?” Bertha asked in a soft voice. “Quite a bit of excitement, eh?” She began to bring the crockery needed for breakfast from the cupboard.

“Not a word, Bertha, but you know my Ma.” Faith shrugged. Bertha loved a gossip and Faith had a notion news of the stranger had more than likely already reached the ears of one or two of her fellow housekeepers, and if not already soon would be. “She will tell me more in her own time.” Faith had her doubts about that claim. “He seemed very nice though, so perhaps he will return.”

The old nameless fellow who came in every morning to empty the chamber pots and do other menial tasks to earn a few pence, interrupted their conversation. He seldom spoke except for muttering something that might have been a greeting or a complaint.

A rap on the front door signalled a delivery, and Faith waved a hand Bertha’s way offering, “I’ll answer, you get on with what you were doing.” A fluttering in her belly signalled how she hoped it was Walt and not his father’s other deliveryman.

As luck would have it, as she opened the door wide, Walt doffed his hat and said with a grin, “Good morning fair maiden, what a sight for sore eyes you are on this murky morning.” As he replaced his hat, he leaned closer to say low, “I was expecting dear old Bertha so it must be my lucky day.”

Faith had no words for that as she put a hand to her cheek that she knew had turned rosy. He went back to his cart and began to lift down two sacks and a box. “Lead ahead fair Faith and I will follow,” he said on a chuckle. Certain that he was teasing she did as he suggested. Once he had been assured by Bertha where to leave the groceries in the cool room off the kitchen, he sent a wink Faith’s way as he asked, “Have you made plans yet for that big celebration?”

Faith realised that the appearance of the stranger had forced all thought of her birthday out of her mind. She trailed Walt as he headed back up the passage, and at that moment, her Ma came down the stairs, stopping to pass a few words with Walt about their delivery, so Faith stood by awkwardly, unsure whether or not she should flee back to the kitchen.

Bertha chose then to call out, “Come eat your porridge while it is hot,” and so Walt simply nodded her way before going out.

As Faith went to close the door, feeling slightly disappointed that he hadn’t dallied with her for a while longer, she noticed a small shaggy head peeking out from the back of the cart. “I did not know you had a dog,” she said as she took a step towards the cart and then faltered, thinking he may think her too forward.

With a small shake of the head, he said, “Oh, it’s not really mine; I saved him from a bad fate when some old codger was ill-treating the poor little tyke. After he told me to keep my nose out of his business, I offered him a few pence for the small creature, and he gladly passed him over.” He lifted the small black and white dog from the cart and offered him to Faith. “Would you like him? Take him from me if you would. My Ma was not best pleased when I took him home as we already have two animals, and she feels that is enough for one household. They keep the rats away.” He held the dog at arm’s length and the creature whimpered.

Faith longed with all her heart to accept the dog, but said, “Oh, no, Ma would not let me keep an animal in the house. He is a fine-looking dog, though.” That was not exactly true, as the small dog was far away from being fine, with scraggly hair and a face that could be termed by some as ugly.

Walt grinned. “I understand. He can keep me company on my rounds, and my Ma will not complain as long as he stays with me and does not enter the shop.” He placed the small creature back in the cart, turned to her and added, “I will give him a wash and smarten him up.” Pushing his hair back he tapped his forehead and said, “Well, I’d best be off.”

Faith watched as he climbed onto his bench at the front of the cart, not failing to notice how agile he was, with strong legs and arms. But then she shook her head, wondering what on earth she was thinking of, admiring a boy’s limbs. Hurriedly she closed the door.

“That is one very nice lad,” Bertha said as she placed their bowls of porridge in front of them. “I think he has a fancy for you, young Faith.” She tapped Faith on the shoulder.

“Stop your silly nonsense, woman and get on with your chores,” her Ma chose to offer in a tone filled with disapproval. “Have you set the table in the dining room?”

Before Bertha scurried from the room, she sent Faith a wink and a shake of the head, ensuring her Ma could not see.

The day went along in the usual way, and not a word about the stranger and his visit passed her Ma’s lips. Faith had become used to her Ma’s long silences and came to realise over time that she just did not wish to disclose her past or anyone who had inhabited this past. It irked Faith that her Ma was so unlike other mothers she knew who shared laughter and fun moments with their daughters more so than their sons. Daisy Finch doted on her daughter Florrie and made it obvious how proud she was of the girl. Faith wondered why her own Ma had never done such, even when she was small, and others said how smart she was, and this hurt.

“Do you still have the notion to invite your friends over to celebrate your birthday with you?” her Ma asked a few days before the day, surprising Faith so much she stared at her as if struck dumb. “Though Lord knows why you should have such high and mighty ideas I do not know.”

Trust Ma to add that last part, Faith thought as she said, “Well, only if you are agreeable Mama. It would just be Grace Barker and Florrie Finch.” Biting her lip, she quickly added, “And perhaps Florrie’s brother Walter might like to be invited. As Bertha said, he is a well-mannered young man. I am not too well acquainted with others of similar age.” That was a fact, like so many other young folks in in the district, she was always too busy for socialising. Even when younger she had been working while others played at their childish games.

Her Ma’s head went back as she digested that. Bertha chose to join in by saying, “What a splendid idea Missus, heaven knows the girl works hard and deserves something fancy for a change.”

“Something fancy!” Faith’s Ma glared at Bertha as if she had suggested they invite the Governor or Queen Victoria herself. “Don’t get ideas above your station, madam. Just the friends you mentioned for tea in the afternoon. Perhaps you can make a nice cake Bertha, and a few delicacies as you suggested.”

“Wonderful.” Bertha clapped her chubby hands together. Gert walked out of the room without saying another word on the subject but Bertha in her excitement sat at the table and began to make her list. “Get along to the store and pick up some extras for me, Faith, and while there you can invite both Florrie and Walt, and then go along to invite young Grace. What time is best do you think? Not too close to lunch or dinner so perhaps make it four o clock, what do you say?”

“Thank you, Bertha.” Faith bent to place a kiss on her rosy cheek. “What would I do without you?”

“Oh, get off with you and run along.” She flapped her list as she waved her hand.

Faith retrieved her shawl from the bedroom and left the house, her step jaunty. It was so unlike her Ma to suggest this that she could not help but wonder if there might be another reason for her strange behaviour. As luck would have it as she neared the store Walter was on the road outside, in the process of loading the cart. Faith’s heart beat a little faster and she felt tongue-tied as he looked up and a saucy grin split his face.

Doffing his cap, he said, “Well here is a pleasant surprise. Enough to brighten a dull old day.” He leant against the side of his cart and stroked the pup, who then licked his hand.

“I have a special list.” Faith swallowed as she realised how stupid that sounded. “I see you still have your friend. Have you given him a name yet?”

“Yes, he is going to be Bob.” He turned to the cart and picked up the dog to place it on the ground. Looking up at Faith the dog sat and lifted a paw. “Bob is very smart, and well mannered, see he is offering a paw for you to shake.” That was accompanied by a laugh.

“Oh.” She bent and took the offered paw. The dog licked her hand, and she withdrew it. “What else does he do?”

“Give him time. Between my jobs and lifting and moving loads, I have little time for training. See the end of his tail. It’s what Florrie called a bobble, so that’s how he got the name.”

“Ah yes, she is correct.” Faith then stood, feeling rather silly for she was so unused to such friendly chat that she did not know what else to say. Remembering the reason for her visit to the store she held the list aloft saying, “I had best get on with my shopping.” As she turned to enter the store she said, “I am having afternoon tea on my birthday. As it was your suggestion that I celebrate, would you care to join us? I am about to ask Florrie if she will come, and Bertha said that perhaps I should ask you.” Shifting from foot to foot, she added hastily, “But maybe you have better things to do. I will be asking Grace Barker so no doubt you would not wish to be surrounded by us silly girls.”

He obviously thought that funny for his grin was wide as he said, bowing slightly, “I would be honoured to attend. I feel obligated somehow, seeing as I was the one who suggested it. Nothing pleases me more than being in the company of young ladies. I find them much more interesting than males of my own age—silly oafs, always talking nonsense and indulging in rollicking and stupid behaviour.”

Certain he was now teasing her for sure, she just nodded and went hurriedly into the store. Florrie and her ma were serving, and Florrie was delighted with the invitation. When Faith went back outside Walt and his cart were gone. Step light, she then went on to invite Grace.

Later that afternoon, after dinner had been served to the guests and Faith and her Ma sat at the table while Bertha set the remaining beef, potatoes, and cabbage onto their three plates, Bertha asked, “Have you a notion what you intend to do with your guests, Faith dear?”

Faith shrugged. “Not a notion in the world, Bertha. What do you suggest? Your son has a boy does he not? How did they celebrate his last birthday?”

Bertha sat and picked up her knife and fork as she thought that over. “I do recall they had some fun with a game of sorts where they tossed hoops of rope onto a wooden peg.” She thought some more and then added, “Ah yes, he said it was called quoits. Shall I fetch that along? It is also a game that the grown-ups play it seems—so your guests should be amused. And you should have some music. Old Mister Sims who sells his wares around the diggings has an instrument, and he likes to play it, so what about I ask him if he could spare the time. All he would expect is a nice slice of cake and a glass of ale, I am sure.”

Faith looked over to Gert, but she said nothing, so Faith said, “That would be lovely, Bertha, thank you. Is Mister Sims a particular friend of yours? I have seen you chatting to him now and then.”

She didn’t miss the slight blush that tinged Bertha’s already rosy cheeks as she waved a hand her way. “We do pass the time of day I must admit. I think he is lonely. He has no kin that I know of. It’s not much of a life travelling from one dig to another and listening to the woes of the miners. I have made a small purchase from him now and then.”

No more was said about the celebration, and to Faith’s surprise and pleasure her Ma came into the bedroom the night before the party with something over her arm. She held a pretty frock aloft saying, “I wore this when I first met your Pa, so perhaps you can wear it tomorrow. It’s not too fancy mind, and certainly not the latest fashion, but better than your shabby old day clothes.”

“It’s beautiful Ma.” Faith took the garment and shook it out. Made of a soft fabric of blue with a pattern of small buds adorning it, the skirt had two flounces. The bodice was unadorned, with puffy sleeves such as Faith had seen in one of the newspapers advertising the current dress trends in London. “Can I try it on to ensure it fits?”

“You can be sure it will fit, as you are about the same in size and height as I was years ago.”

“I didn’t know you owned anything so pretty, Ma.” That was a fact. They only ever wore their simple black everyday skirts and blouses.

“I forgot I owned it, girl. It must have been pushed to the bottom of my trunk. Try it on if you must. I am weary and ready for my bed.” With that she went out with a lantern and Faith heard the back door close behind her as she visited the outhouse they were lucky enough to now have at the end of the small yard where they grew a variety of vegetables.

Quickly Faith stripped off her skirt and blouse, both of which had seen better days, and pulled the dress over her head. As they had no mirror large enough for her to see how she looked, nevertheless the soft fabric felt wonderful beneath her work worn hands and yes, it fit perfectly and was just the right length. How she wished she possessed nice underthings and a pair of shoes other than the plain black pumps or the ankle boots that were the only footwear she possessed. Even so, she thought how lucky she was that her Ma had a change of heart and not only gave permission for her celebration but also found this treasure for her to wear. She danced a small jig in the small space allowed between the beds.

Before sleep claimed her, Faith wondered if Walt would find her pretty in the dress.

* * *

“Please help yourselves to more of Bertha’s splendid fruit cake or the small pies she made,” Faith offered her three guests. Apart from the main dining table, the room also held two small round tables and the four of them sat at one of these beneath the window that faced the street. To her dismay both Florrie and Grace had arrived attired in frocks far more up to date and pretty than her own.

Walt had been his usual well-mannered self, bowing to her Ma, but had not seemed to notice Faith’s new dress. As she was not acquainted with the likes and dislikes of men, she had no idea if that was normal. He did offer her a lovely posy of wildflowers as he came in and to Faith that was the best gift she had ever or would ever receive. Florrie handed her a small bag of fruit drops, and Grace presented her with spiced nuts.

Bertha had insisted that Faith not wear her hair in its usual braid but had pulled back the sides and secured her well-brushed locks behind her head with a bow that matched the blue of the frock. Faith rarely wore her hair loose and it felt strange, but at least she did not feel out of place as both her friends had theirs left to hang down their backs. Faith was thankful that once the guests had arrived, her Ma disappeared, saying she had work to attend to. Once Bertha had ensured they all had refreshments, that Walt’s posy sat centre table, and all else was to her liking she also went back to her kitchen.

“Your cook is certainly talented,” Grace said as she helped herself to another pie—her third. “Our kitchen staff are not so good. My Mama is always complaining about them.” Her small nose wrinkled as she spooned more custard on her pie.

Walt, who sat on Faith’s right, said, “Our Ma likes to cook so she takes care of all that herself. Mind you, she does not have paying guests to worry about as you do, Faith.”

Faith wasn’t quite sure if he was hinting that his Ma and Pa didn’t need to take in lodgers as they were wealthy enough. She felt more tongue-tied than usual in his company. Apart from greeting them and thanking them all for their gifts when they arrived together, she had mostly remained silent. Feeling it was time for her to say something, she blurted, “Mister Sims has agreed to come and play some music for us after we have finished eating.”

“Oh, is that the old fellow who hawks his goods around the diggings,” Grace said. “I hope he takes the trouble to bathe. Last time he walked near me in the street, he stunk as if he had lingered where the night man dumps the nightsoil.”

“The poor old soul has nowhere to call home, Grace, so we should be more charitable,” Walt chided. “Not all of us are lucky enough to have decent beds to sleep in and someone there to pander to our needs.”

Grace looked noticeably chastised by his remark and took another pie. Faith felt a warm glow that Walt had defended someone less fortunate than himself. Once most of the food had been eaten and Bertha returned to inquire if they needed any more fruit juice, Walt said, “Shall we play the game Bertha mentioned she had left for us?” Earlier Bertha had brought the quoits in and explained how to use it, and Walt had exclaimed that he thought it would be fun.

After moving the table back so that they had more room the game kept them occupied for an hour. By the time Bertha announced that Mister Sims had arrived they were having so much fun that Faith was reluctant to end it—pleased that she appeared to be more skilful than the other two girls at getting the ring over the post. Twice Walt had congratulated her, which did not appear to please Grace.

“At least the old fellow has cleaned up a fraction,” Grace commented to Florrie behind a hand in a half whisper. Faith decided she did not like the spoilt girl all that much. Either Walt did not hear her this time or chose to ignore her, but he said nothing as he packed the game away in its bag.

“Let us move to the parlour,” Faith said as she gestured before her, and they all trooped into the small room adjacent to the dining room.

To Faith’s surprise, Mister Sims was very skilled on his small, strange instrument, that he called a squeezebox, and began to play a lively polka. Bertha joined them after tidying the dining room, and she began to clap her hands along with the music. “He plays to the diggers sometimes, so he told me,” she whispered to Faith. “I expect that’s why he is good at it.”

The best part of the afternoon came when Walt extended a hand to Faith, asking, “Would the birthday girl care to dance with me—mind you, you’d best watch out for your dainty feet as I am not too good at this cavorting thing.”

Faith took his offered hand, which was warm and noticeably strong. “I must confess I have never done such a dance either so it is likely your feet that will need to be careful of mine.”

He chuckled at that, and they began to do what she could only consider a sort of jumping up and down and swinging round. In her enjoyment, she laughed aloud as he held his arm aloft and guided her beneath it. When old Sim’s music stopped after reaching a crescendo, Faith was breathless as she sank onto a chair.

“That’s called a polka,” Bertha explained, as she patted Faith’s knee. “Play another one Sims,” she called out and after taking a swig of the beer she had left at his side, he started again, this time playing a softer tune similar to a lullaby. This brought back a vivid memory from Faith’s childhood, and she suddenly recalled that her Ma would sing something similar to her when she was still barely walking. Why had Ma stopped singing? Faith seemed to recall that she had a beautiful voice, as she lulled her to sleep.

Grace came to stand in front of Walt, holding her hand palm up in front of him. “Come dance with me, Walter,” she said in a demanding tone, and then looked annoyed when he did not take the outstretched hand.

“A lady does not ask such of a man,” Bertha admonished which seemed to annoy Grace even more. With a flounce of her skirts, she went to plonk herself down on the chair, mumbling something that only Florrie could hear. Turning to Faith, Bertha said low, “That one needs to be taught some manners.”

Faith agreed with her and now wished she had not invited Grace. But her choices were few, as she had no other friends of her own age. That thought saddened her. Old Sam played another polka and when Walt asked his sister to dance with him, the glare Grace sent his way should have sent him afire. He did not seem to notice—or ignored it, which pleased Faith no end.

Faith’s Ma came in then. With a look around the room, she said, “Bertha, time you were preparing the evening meal.” Rubbing her hands together she added, “Faith say goodbye to your company.” Her glance at Mister Sims should have turned him to stone as she sniffed and waved him on his way.

As Faith said farewell to Grace, Florrie, and Walt, she caught sight of a figure striding along on the far side of the road, a man she recalled from his recent visit. Her Ma had not mentioned Bryce Witherton once since that evening and Faith wondered if he was heading their way or simply taking a stroll. A beggar woman stopped him, saying something that was likely a plea for money, and he delved into his pocket and handed her a coin before walking on.

Grace barely muttered a thank you or farewell before marching briskly in the opposite direction to Florrie. About to follow his sister, Walt turned back. “Thank you for a most enjoyable afternoon,” he said with a smile. “I neglected to tell you how pleasant you look in your nice frock.” He fingered a lock of her hair that had fallen over her shoulder. “I like your hair down like that. You should wear it that way more often, it is beautiful.”

Faith knew her cheeks had reddened, and her tongue seemed to have stuck to the roof of her mouth. Barely had she time to nod and say a soft, “Thank you,” than he had given her a carefree wave and strode after his sister. “And thank you for the flowers,” she called, but he continued walking, so she was unsure if he heard.

He had left her in such a bemused condition that she had not noticed Mr. Witherton cross the road. “Good afternoon—or should I say evening, to you, Faith. I hope I have not intruded on what was obviously a visit with friends. I was in the vicinity of your home and dared pay your good mother another call, merely to ascertain if she had changed her way of looking at things since my last intrusion in your lives.”

Faith rubbed at her cheek. What should she say to him? Should she tell him that not once had her Ma mentioned him or his odd evening call? “Ma will be busy in the kitchen helping our cook prepare for the evening meal.” That sounded offensive to her so she quickly added, “Please come into the parlour and I will fetch her. Perhaps you would care to dine with us.” Biting her lip at that offer, she wondered if her Ma would be angry with her for being so forward.

He seemed pleased at that, and stepped into the hallway, removing his hat. “That would be a pleasure, but if this is not a good time, perhaps I should leave it until another day.”

“I will ask Mama, so take a seat and she will be with you soon.” Faith gestured to the worn old sofa, and he sat, his hat held in his hands.

“Can I take that?” Faith reached out and took it from him, but then was not sure where to put it so lay it on the one small side table.

“I saw your visitors leaving. Were you celebrating your anniversary? I recall you said you were nearing your seventeenth birthday. Was it today?”

Faith stared at him as her chin tucked in. How did this stranger remember such a small item from their conversation that did not last long before her Ma intervened and told him to leave? “Yes.” Her response sounded rather short, but he had taken her by complete surprise.

“Then, I hope it has been a happy one.”

Before she could reply to that, her Ma came bursting into the room, looking very dishevelled. “I did not know we had a visitor,” she said, not sounding at all pleased.

Mr. Witherton stood abruptly and held out a hand. “I do apologise, I seem to have come at a very inappropriate time. Perhaps I should return at a more suitable date.”

“No need for that. I made it clear—or so I thought—that we had nothing to discuss.” Gert turned to face Faith, waved a hand her way and said in what Faith heard as a distinctly harassed tone, “Go assist Bertha, girl.”

Faith looked from her to the man and went out of the room at an almost run. Barely had the door closed behind her than she heard her Ma shout, “For heaven’s sake, I thought I made it clear to you on your last call, you are not welcome here and I do not wish to discuss our past with you. Get out of my house and do not come back.”

Bertha grimaced towards Faith when she entered the kitchen. “What on earth has got into your Mama, Faith? I have never heard her in such a tizzy before.”

Faith shrugged her shoulders and slumped onto a chair.

Chapter Three

“I invited the gentleman to share our meal with us,” Faith said, now feeling that she would earn the wrath of her Ma’s tongue later. “Did she mention the visitor at all to you or his reason for turning up at our door?”

Bertha spread her hands and shook her head. “Never a word. But your Ma is not one to confide in anyone, especially in me. I thought she might have discussed the stranger with you, seeing as he seemed to have shared a part of her life with her before you were born.”

“My Ma has secrets it seems. Perhaps I will learn more now.” Faith went to the door. “He is still in there, so she has not thrown him out. Prepare another place for him at the table, Bertha, just in case he does persuade her to allow him to stay this time.”

About to turn back, Faith heard the man say, “Your daughter has reached marriageable age, Gertrude, and is no longer a child to be fobbed off with lies. Do you not think that she has a right to learn the truth about her birth?” Shocked to her bones, Faith stood there in a daze.

After his last visit she was left to wonder about the part this gent took in her Ma’s dismissal, which seemed to have somehow involved him. That statement made her now feel that her birth was not as simple as her Ma had always explained it. What did he mean by the truth about her birth? Was that the big secret? Had her Ma lied all Faith’s life about the truth of her parent? The man she had called Papa was different in every way to Faith, with a swarthy skin, and hair that was almost red in shade, and he was a very tall man.

In fact, Faith recalled that when about six she had asked him why she did not have the same colour hair. “Don’t always work out that way, child,” was his response. “You favour your Ma’s looks and colour. Wouldn’t want to look like an old cabbage faced sod like me now, would you?” At the time, in her childish innocence, she had taken his words as the truth. “And my skin is darker than yours through many hours working out in the midday sun.”

Going to sit at the table, Faith put her head in her hands and realised that her face was damp with tears. “I do not understand this, Bertha,” she wailed. “What has this man to do with my birth?”

Bertha sat at her side and put her arms about Faith. “Don’t fret my dear one, surely your Ma will now explain what this is all about to you.”

Faith had a feeling her Ma was not likely to ever do that. She made to rise and at that moment her Ma’s voice clearly rang out as she shouted, “Keep out of our lives from now on Bryce Witherton, and do not come here again stirring up the past along with all the strife you put me through. We are managing fine my girl and I, and do not wish to have someone such as you come along and dig up happenings that brought such pain. It all happened so many years ago, so Lord knows what you are thinking to do by coming back here.”

Bertha and Faith exchanged a glance as the front door slammed. Gert did not come into the kitchen but went along the passage and they heard her go through the back door into the yard, likely on her way to the outhouse. “Best get the food moving,” Bertha said as she stirred the pot on the stovetop vigorously. “The guests will be expecting their meal soon. I heard old Madam Pollock coming downstairs. Never misses a meal that one.”

Later, when Faith took Mrs. Pollock’s meal into the dining room, to her surprise the old woman asked, “How did your birthday celebration go, my dear?” Without waiting for a response, she handed Faith a small cloth bag, which she took from the pocket of her skirt. “Here’s a small trinket for you. It is not newly purchased, but I have no need for such frivolous fancy things these days and thought you might like it now that you are of an age to wear such ornaments.”

“Why, thank you, Madam,” Faith said with pleasure as she drew a brooch from the small sachet. It contained blue gemstones set in the pattern of a rose, which caught the light from the lamp that made it glitter as Faith moved it around on her palm. “It is beautiful—I have never received such a lovely gift. Did you wear this when you were my age?”

With a wave of a veined and misshapen hand she said, “Bless you no. My husband brought that for me on our wedding day.” Sighing, she seemed sad for a moment, but then brightened. “We both worked in a big house in Melbourne, I as downstairs maid and he in the stables tending to the horses that he loved.”

“I will cherish this gift, thank you again.” As Faith put it into the pocket of her skirt she wondered just when she would have a chance to wear such a splendid piece of jewellery.

“Ensure you do wear it, Faith dear. In my view you spend far too much time around here.” With a wave of the hand, she encompassed the room and house as a whole. Taking Faith’s hand, she pulled her closer and added in a conspiratorial tone, “It is always good to have something you can barter with my dear, for you never know what travails life will bring you.”

Not knowing what to say to that small piece of sage advice, Faith smiled down at the kindly woman. As she went to see if the other lodgers required anything more, it occurred to her that the gift might be of some value. As she was about to go back to the kitchen Mrs. Pollock beckoned her over again. Looking secretive, she leant close and said in a soft voice so no one else could hear, “I could hear raised voices earlier. Is everything all right with your mother, my dear?”

Taken aback, Faith shook her head. “Why yes, I think she was simply not happy with one of her visitors. I have no idea what happened, but you can be sure my Ma will be fine. As you know she is a woman who does not let mere trifles worry her.” Faith hoped that explanation would satisfy the woman.

Sadly, it did not. With a small harrumph, she said, “I saw the gent as he walked across the street, and he seemed intent on his mission as he strode towards here. A fine-looking man if ever I saw one.”

Faith sucked her bottom lip in as she pondered on an answer to that, and at that moment her Ma poked her head around the door and called out, “Faith, Bertha needs you in the kitchen.” With a nod at Madam Pollock Faith hurried out.

Her Ma’s mood and manner did not falter as she ate her meal. Stern faced and tight lipped she stared at Faith as, after growing tired of the silence between them, she asked, “Did Mr. Witherton upset you Ma?”

That question seemed to annoy her, which Faith found odd. “Upset me? What gave you that notion?”

Bertha and Faith exchanged a look of confusion. It seemed her mother was going to carry on as if the earlier incident was commonplace. “Mrs. Pollock gave me a gift.” Faith pulled out the small bag and withdrew its contents, which she fingered lovingly.

“What in heaven’s name is the silly old fool giving you such trinkets for? You should return it.”

Faith stared at her before spluttering, “Why would I return such a gift? It is the loveliest thing I have ever seen, and I will treasure it always.” Holding the brooch close to her breast, she shook her head.

Her Ma jumped out of her chair, came around the table and gripped Faith’s arm, pulling her up. “Come, I will tell her you cannot accept it.”

“But…” Faith reeled back and dug in her heels. Used to her Ma’s cold manner and stern ways, she nonetheless was shocked by the fierce look in her Ma’s eyes. “I will not insult a person who thought of me so kindly. Why on earth should I not keep such a gift?”

“Because I do not trust such gift givers. Next you know she will be expecting more from you.”

With a puzzled frown, Faith shook her head in total confusion. Knowing that she was ignorant of the ways of the larger world, she still could not see why accepting a gift could in any way put her in debt to the giver. Determined not to give in to her Ma this time, she sat again, pushed the brooch back into its pouch, and into her pocket.

Without another word, her Ma turned and marched from the room, going straight to the dining room. Faith followed her but went no further than the door. Mrs. Pollock was in the middle of folding her serviette, which she did with extreme care once she caught sight of Gert. Holding her breath, Faith waited for her Ma to say something that might be just about the worst thing she could ever utter.

“I would like to have a word with you in private,” was what she did say as she nodded to Mrs. Pollock. “Let us go to the parlour.” The other diners, all men, watched the pair of women as they left the room. Bertha gave Faith a look of inquiry before going to collect the used dishes.

Her Ma made no objections when Faith followed them to the parlour where Mrs. Pollock sat on the sofa with a sigh. “I presume you are not happy with my gift to your daughter, and before you begin to harangue me, let me tell you why I gave it to her.”

“I do not trust gift-givers, and that is the truth. My daughter does not need your trinket or advice, thank you.” That last was added without a trace of gratitude but more as an insult.

“So she is to go through life without receiving a small piece of kindness from anyone, is that it? The girl works all hours in this godforsaken house, without a kind word from you, her mother, and so now you begrudge her receiving what is simply a small trinket in appreciation for all the help and kindness she has shown me since coming here. Heaven knows everyone gets little in the way of appreciation from you, madam.”

Faith watched as colour flooded her Ma’s cheeks. Seeming to be lost for words, her mouth twisted, and Faith felt that at any moment steam might come out of her ears. “It is no business of yours, Madam, how I treat my daughter. In addition, I would thank you to keep your stuck up nose out of our affairs. Furthermore, you can find yourself other lodgings as you are no longer welcome in this house.” With what seemed to Faith to be a flounce she turned, brushed past Faith, and went to their bedroom where she slammed the door.

Mrs. Pollock let out a heavy sigh as she signalled for Faith to come closer. “I would never have given the gift if I thought for one moment it would cause such a disaster.” With hands on knees, she pushed herself up and said in a soft tone, “It is my belief that your mother grew bitter after it was clear that she was with child, that child being you Faith dear girl.” Pausing she looked past Faith to ensure they were alone before continuing. “I did not know her well as such, but knew of her, as I went to work in the big house about the time the scandal blew up.”

“Scandal? I do not understand.” Faith shook her head, feeling as if she was drifting in a fog. “Ma left the big house, or so it was told to me, when she met my Papa, and he was the one who aided her when she was alone and friendless in Melbourne. He later, some time after their wedding, insisted they come to Ballarat in search of gold as so many others were doing.”

“I have likely said too much, Faith dear girl. I do not wish to cause you pain. Heaven knows you have had a hard time of it with that harridan of a woman who seems to think the entire world is against her.” With another huge sigh, she turned for the door, and with a hand on Faith’s arm said, “I will now search for new lodgings, and perhaps we can meet up again once I get settled there, and I will tell you all that I know.”

“No, do not go, Madam, for I am certain my Ma will relent and allow you to stay.” Everything she had said so far had just mystified Faith more. Her belief was that Mrs. Pollock came to the town with her husband and he died before he could stake his claim. Could she really know more about her Ma, and what happened all those years ago? A sudden thought hit her—how strange it seemed that all this had come out to add to the mysterious appearance in their lives of Bryce Witherton.

“No, Faith dear, I would prefer to find more suitable lodgings, in fact it has been my thought for some time to return to Melbourne. That is what I will probably do, but as soon as I am settled for now, I would like you to call on me, away from this house and your mother’s rule. How does that sound?”

“Well, I would much prefer it if you stayed, but if it is your decision to go then I would most certainly like to visit you. And thank you once again for my beautiful gift, I will always treasure it.”

“One more thing. I must make it clear that the brooch is no mere bauble. It would fetch a tidy sum if you are ever in dire straits and need funds.”

“You mean…mean, it is valuable?” Faith swallowed a lump that formed in her throat. Why was this woman, a person she barely knew, being so generous? “I don’t understand.”

As if suddenly in a hurry, she patted Faith on the arm and left the room. Faith sat on the sofa and took the small sachet from her pocket. Touching the brooch, tears filled her eyes. Apart from Bertha, no one had ever treated her so kindly. Was she forever to suffer the tantrums and dictates of her Ma? Never had the urge to get away been so strong. However, up until now the thought of leaving all that was familiar to her and going elsewhere seemed impossible. But if Mrs. Pollock was being truthful and the brooch was valuable perhaps there was a chance to get away? But where would she go, and would she have enough courage to defy her Ma?

Two days later Mrs. Pollock said her goodbyes to Faith and Bertha and with board straight back nodded to Gert before marching from the house. A man had come to collect her one trunk to transport it to her new chosen lodgings. Ensuring that Gert did not see, she surreptitiously handed Faith a scrap of paper with the details of her new chosen abode. Faith scurried out to the outhouse and was shocked when she read the scrawling writing; for Mrs. Pollock had chosen the same hotel that Bryce Witherton had told her Ma he was staying while in town.

“I miss the dear old thing,” Bertha said later the same day. “She was no trouble, in fact least trouble than the men we get passing through.” She plonked a dish on the table to show her disgust. “What was your Ma thinking? To toss a grand old person like her out for something so trifling.” Wagging her wooden spoon at Faith, she said in a hushed voice, “Don’t you ever let your Ma take that brooch away from you. I agree with Mrs. Pollock, there could come a day when it might come in handy. My advice is to secrete it somewhere your Ma is not likely to find it. Don’t end up being a slave for anyone, Faith dear. You make your own decisions on your future. I have a feeling things are about to change around here.” With that sage prediction, she disappeared into the larder and began to hum low as she sorted through her neatly stored packages and containers.

Faith’s head was a whirl of thoughts. Suddenly all that was familiar to her seemed to be changing. What on earth was she to do with the brooch? Sadly, she agreed deep down with Bertha, feeling her Ma would find a way to take the gift away from her. For the first time ever, she felt something not quite nice about her Ma. Afraid to let the feeling surface, she pushed it further to the back of her mind.

* * *

“I saw your lodger, Mrs. Pollock, outside the hotel in deep conversation with that gent who visited your Ma a while back,” Walt said as he lifted a sack of flour off the back of his cart.

Faith unbent from stroking Bob’s soft ears. The pup was now allowed to run beside the cart when Walt made his deliveries. A week had passed since the drama of Mrs. Pollock changing lodgings and Faith had not yet found the courage or right time to visit the generous lady. Her Ma seemed to be watching her every move, which was as distressing as it was disturbing. Never had she felt like a prisoner in her home.

“Oh, I guess that is not so surprising seeing as they both rent accommodation there.”

Walt set the sack down beside them and pushed his cap back as he shook his head. “‘Twas a surprise to everyone that the dear lady moved. My Ma said she thought the woman was settled at your lodgings.”

Faith shrugged, unsure how much to divulge of the occurrences that brought about the change. Could she trust Walt? It was a fact that he knew just about everything that went on in town, and she had no idea if he gossiped but guessed that folk passed the time of day with him. “I guess she simply wanted a change of surroundings.” Faith hoped that explanation would settle it. It still surprised her that the lady could afford to lodge in such a fine hotel that would surely cost more than the twenty-seven shillings a week she paid for board at their lodgings.

Walt looked hard at her before lifting the sack again and going inside the house. Faith stayed where she was, glad to be out in the sunshine. “You are a very good boy,” she told Bob who wagged his tail fiercely. How she wished her Ma would allow her to have a dog of her own. Walt came back out, whistling a merry tune as he returned to his cart. About to climb aboard, he turned back and for a moment seemed uncertain as he straightened his cap that was already perfectly set on his head. When he asked, “Would you care to take a ride with me when next I get an afternoon off, Faith?” So surprised was she that she simply stared at him in silence.

Truth was that she would like nothing more but had no idea what her Ma would say to that idea. Casting doubts aside, she said, “That would be nice, Walt. What day would that be?”

A grin split his face as he rubbed his ear, suddenly seeming to be stuck for words. “Perhaps Sunday…if that day suits you.” Nibbling the end of his thumb, he added, “Would you like me to ask your Ma if she is agreeable?”

That was the last thing she wanted. Shaking her head, she nonetheless wondered how she could tell her Ma. “No, no Walt, that won’t be necessary. What time?”

“Does about two o clock sound a good time?” His usual bravado seemed to have deserted him and Faith had the notion that he was feeling as nervous as she felt herself.

“That sounds like a perfectly suitable time.”

With a nod, he said, “Sunday at two it is then.” He then climbed aboard, whistled to Bob, touched his cap, and urged his horse forward.

Faith stood watching well after his cart was out of sight, her insides churning with a feeling such as she had never known before. On the one hand, excitement made her feel slightly sick and on the other hand, fear at what her Ma would say made her tremble. An idea struck; she would say that she was visiting Walt’s sister Florrie. Her Ma could put up no objection to that. Seldom did she venture out herself so the likelihood of her seeing Faith with Walt was so slight it was not worth the worry of it. But nonetheless she did worry.

Later while she helped Bertha to set the tables for the evening meal she said in a whisper, “Walt has asked me to go for a ride with him on Sunday, Bertha, should I ask Ma?”

Bertha seemed pleased but then shook her head. “Dear me no, you go along dear, and I will do my best to keep your Ma here. I usually have Sunday afternoon to myself but have changed it to Saturday this week as my son is holding a small celebration and wants me to help him with it.” Patting Faith on the arm she added, “Tell her you are meeting one of your friends, Florrie—or that other little stuck up one, what’s her name, Grace Barker.”

“That was my idea. I really do not like telling fibs, but feel it is the only way.”

Bertha nodded sagely, leaning close to ask, “Would you like me to get your brooch from its hiding place for you to wear?” The brooch had been well and truly secured somewhere in the pantry—and Faith had no idea where—which was probably the best idea. Her Ma had a way of wheedling the truth out of her. Faith felt that her Ma had already made a thorough search through her own meagre belongings.

About to refuse, Faith said, “Maybe I will take it along with me, Bertha. Do you think I can trust Walt enough to disclose the truth of it?”

“My goodness me yes, I cannot think of another young man who is more trustworthy. And he surely has a soft spot for you, Faith dear.” About to turn about she added softly, “He knows lots of people in all walks of trade around the town. Mayhap he can offer you sage advice on where to take it should you ever need to know its value.”

Sound advice indeed. Deep down, Faith had a feeling that had stayed with her since taking possession of the gift, that Mrs. Pollock’s reason for giving her the brooch was more to do with its value than its beauty. For it was obvious that an occasion for her to wear such a piece of jewellery was not likely to crop up in the foreseeable future.

The following two days passed in a haze of excitement as Faith pondered on what to wear. Not that she had a lot of choice. If she wore the dress her Ma presented her with to wear to her birthday celebration her Ma’s suspicions would immediately be roused. So, she would need to select the best of her workday clothes, of which there was little choice.

As they ate their midday meal on Sunday, Faith said, “Florrie Finch has kindly asked me to visit, Ma. It is such a nice day that I thought to take a walk over there.” She glanced at Bertha and swore she received a wink from her. Earlier Bertha had schooled her in what to say. It occurred to Faith to wonder how many other girls had to invent stories for their Mamas simply to spend time with a boy who showed them attention.

Gert’s head went back as she stared at Faith and for one moment Faith held her breath, fearing that she was about to receive a scolding. To her surprise her Ma said, “As Bertha is here today, I suppose it won’t hurt for you to go out. But don’t dilly-dally there for long, mind you. We will still need your help at dinner now we have three extra lodgers to cope with.”

“For certain Mama, I will be out no longer than an hour or two. I will be back well in time for dinner.” Inside Faith wanted to shout and sing for joy at the ease with which the lie had been received.

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