Tamar (2 page)

‘And so here I am,’ said Tamar, her tears forgotten.

‘What did ye have in mind when ye get to New Zealand? For a job, I mean,’ asked Myrna.

Tamar pulled out a handkerchief and wiped a nose made runny by crying and the raw wind. ‘I’m a good seamstress. My sister was too, and we planned to start a business. When we had enough money.’

‘So will ye do that by yeself now?’

‘I think so, if I can. It will be harder now, I expect.’

Myrna agreed. She narrowed her eyes and looked at Tamar appraisingly. ‘Mmm, but ye’re a pretty wee thing. Wi’ that auburn hair and those big green eyes ye’ll no’ be on your own for long.’

Tamar went red. ‘Thank you, Miss McTaggart. I am hoping I might meet someone in New Zealand.’

‘Och, ma name’s Myrna, lassie. And I’ve no doubt ye’ll meet a good man, no doubt at all.’

Tamar nodded politely, then cleared her throat. ‘There is one thing I would like to seek your advice about, Miss, ah, Myrna.’

Myrna raised her finely plucked eyebrows. ‘And what might that be?’

‘My passage was booked on the understanding I would be accompanied by my father. He had already died when I booked it. I lied to the agent. I’m not old enough to emigrate on my own.’

Myrna tapped her boot thoughtfully, her hands on her curvaceous hips. ‘And ye must travel accompanied?’

‘Yes.’

‘Oh, well, that’s easily fixed, lassie. Wait here a minute.’

Myrna elbowed her way through the busy crowd, returning several minutes later towing a small, inoffensive-looking man.

‘Tamar, meet George Kellow from St Ives. One o’ your lot. For a small fee, he’s kindly agreed to be your uncle. Ye’ll board wi’ him and his family, then go your separate ways as soon as we’re in the Channel. D’ye get ma drift?’

Tamar instantly felt better. Her dilemma
had
been easily fixed. She reached for her purse. ‘How much do I owe you, Mr Kellow?’

‘Och, I’ve already paid the wee gentleman,’ replied Myrna. ‘Dinnae worry yeself.’ She pulled the lapels of her bright blue coat together over her ample bosom. ‘Aye, well, it looks like we’re boarding. I must be off and organise ma girls,’ she said, inclining her head towards a group of young women standing by a vast pile of trunks and bags. ‘I’ll see ye on board, lassie. If there’s anything ye need, be it even just a wee chat, ye’ll come and see me, aye?’ And off she swept, her head high and the tails of her extravagant coat flapping.

Tamar stared after her. What a strange woman, she reflected. Myrna looked to be in her forties, but very well preserved and attractive. Her clothes, although gaudy, were expertly made, and she wore several expensive-looking rings, although none on her wedding finger. She was clearly a woman of some income, but she was coarse-mouthed, somewhat raucous, and perhaps not terribly well bred. But quite likable, thought Tamar, and very kind. She slung her bag over her shoulder and bent to take hold of her trunk.

‘I’ll take that, Miss,’ said Mr Kellow. ‘Seeing as you’re my niece.’ He had an amused smile on his weathered face.

‘Thank you,’ she replied. ‘How much did Miss McTaggart pay you?’

‘Ten pounds.’

‘
What
?’

‘Ten pounds. ’Tis a criminal offence after all. But we’ve the six little ones an’ not a lot of money.’

‘So how is it you know Miss McTaggart?’

‘Know her? I never seen her before!’ Mr Kellow laughed at her startled expression. ‘She just come up an’ asked if I were wanting to make a bit of money. I were, so here I am. Come on, Miss, I’ll introduce yer to your aunt.’

They dodged through the crowd until Mr Kellow stopped in front of a woman with five small children milling about her like ducklings, and a round-faced baby balanced on her hip. Mrs Kellow was even smaller than her husband, and just as weathered and harried looking.

‘It’s Tamar, isn’t it?’ asked Mr Kellow. ‘Tamar, this is Mrs Kellow.’

Mrs Kellow nodded and said anxiously, ‘George, we should board now, with the rest of the crowd. While there’s a rush.’ Tamar gathered she was not overjoyed at having a new niece, even if it was only for the next hour.

She hefted up her trunk and followed the Kellows up the gangway. At the top stood a man Tamar assumed was an emigration official. Stopping people as they boarded, he was checking their papers, ticking their names off against a list, then directing them on. She felt sick as she waited her turn.

Standing directly behind George Kellow, she heard him explaining that she was his niece. His face expressionless, the man held out his hand for Tamar’s papers. ‘Tamar Deane?’ he asked. ‘It says you’re travelling with your father. Where is he?’

Nerves already stretched as tight as a bowstring, Tamar burst into tears. ‘He
died
!’ she sobbed.

The official watched her impassively for a moment, then turned back to George Kellow. ‘Your wife’s side?’

Nodding a little too enthusiastically, Mr Kellow added,
‘Daughter of the wife’s recently departed brother. Very sad it were.’

The man made some ticks on his list, and crossed one name off. ‘On you go,’ he said, not looking at them again. Tamar closed her eyes in relief and the Kellows relaxed visibly as they surged forward.

The deck was pandemonium, crowded with emigrants saying goodbye to friends and family and children running about shrieking with excitement or wailing in confusion, piles of luggage, ropes, provisions, boxes and bales, live chickens in crates and fresh dung from the ship’s milking cows. All this was overlaid with the sharp smell of the sea and the reek of a slightly stale catch from the fishing boat moored at the next quay.

‘Pay heed!’ bellowed a seaman, standing on a large cask to get the passengers’ attention. ‘I am First Mate of the
Rebecca Jane
, bound for New Zealand. We expect the voyage to take three months, less if the wind favours us, and in the interests of shortening our running time we will not land at Cape Town. The Master will be aboard shortly and we will head into the sound in an hour. Move your trunks over to the afterhatch for the lumpers to take down, but take out what you need now because we’ll not be opening the hold for another month. Take the rest of your belongings below. The Second Mates will show you where to go. Cabin passengers will be boarding shortly. All non-passengers ashore.’

Tamar turned to George Kellow and his wife, mouthed ‘thank you’, smiled at his wink, then dragged her trunk to the afterhatch, already surrounded by a mountain of scruffy-looking luggage. As she moved towards the main hatch there was a mad crush as people fought to get down the steep ladder first for the best berths. When it was Tamar’s turn to descend into the creaking belly of the ship, she could barely make out her surroundings. As her eyes became accustomed to the gloom, she saw there were no best berths.

A man’s voice called, ‘Single women over here!’

Tamar moved towards what she assumed was the front of the
ship, where a young crewman held yet another list. He looked up and asked, ‘Name?’

‘Miss Tamar Deane,’ she replied.

‘Papers?’ Tamar handed over her certificate of passage and confirmation of medical examination and the crewman ticked her name off.

‘Through this door and you’ll see the single women’s quarters.’ He pushed the door open with his foot and pointed. ‘See? Bunks on your left, put your gear on one, you’ll be taking your meals at the mid-ship tables back the way you’ve come. Matron’ll have a word when everyone’s settled.’

Tamar stepped into the cramped and stale-smelling cabin, closed the door behind her and looked about for a bunk. Remembering what Brigid had said in her letter about the incessant noise from married couples and families in the middle of the ship, she chose the berth furthest from the door. The bunks were built one above the other, extending from the hull into the centre of the cabin. She dropped her gear onto the bottom one, a very narrow space she could see she would have to get into feet first. There was a small shelf at the back but nowhere else to put her things, with only a small curtain at the front for privacy.

Wearily she pulled her thin blanket and a sheet out of her travel bag and spread them on the sad-looking mattress. She bent down to examine it closely, looking for wildlife and other unpleasant signs of past use, but could not see properly in the gloom. The four lanterns in the cabin did little to penetrate the murk.

‘Don’t
think
there’s anythin’ livin’ in ’em, an’ they smell like they’ve ’ad a good wash, but yer never can tell!’

Tamar jumped at the voice, hitting her head on the top bunk. Hearing a giggle, she turned and saw she had walked past three young women reclining in the bunks nearest the door.

‘You gave me a fright!’ she gasped.

‘Sorry, luv,’ said the speaker, a girl with heavy blonde hair tied back with a green ribbon. ‘Thought you’d seen us on yer way in.’

‘No, I didn’t, I’m sorry. It’s quite dark in here.’

‘It is,’ said the blonde girl. ‘An’ cramped. Could get stuffy after three months. I’m not lookin’ forward ter it. I’m Polly Jakes.’ Climbing out of her bunk, she indicated her companions. ‘An’ this ’ere’s Sally Thomas and Jane Shilton.’

Tamar introduced herself. Polly, Sally and Jane were emigrating to New Zealand in search of a better life and, hopefully, husbands. Polly was petite, pretty and cheerful and pleasingly round. Sally was slender and dark while Jane was solid but fit-looking with wavy black hair. Tamar judged them to be in their early twenties and immediately envied their obvious comradeship.

‘Phew,’ said Jane, fanning her face with her hat. ‘There’s no air in ’ere already. Let’s go up on deck, shall we, see what’s happenin’? You comin’, Tamar?’

Absurdly pleased to be invited, Tamar hung her bag on a nail at the back of her bunk and followed them back through the swarming, din-filled married quarters and up the ladder to the deck. Most of the equipment and provisions strewn about just half an hour before had gone. As they moved towards the bulwark closest to the dock they heard a commotion below; looking down, they saw a group of well-dressed people standing around an enormous pile of luggage, some of which was being hoisted onto the shoulders of various crew members. Cabin passengers, thought Tamar.

As a crewman lifted a particularly heavy-looking case, one of the women in the group shrieked, ‘Careful with that, you clumsy fool! My best Wedgwood china is in that case. If I find any of it broken when we reach New Zealand, I will hold
you
personally responsible!’

The crewman looked at the woman, middle-aged and overdressed in a bustled gown bedecked with braid, fringes and piping,
topped off with an ornate lace cap, its long ribbons flying in the strong breeze. ‘Of course, Ma’am,’ he replied. ‘I know ’ow yer valuables need ter be treated, Ma’am.’

He plodded up the steep gangway, balancing the crate expertly on his right shoulder. As he neared Tamar and her new friends, he said under his breath, ‘They should be shoved up yer arse, Ma’am,’ and winked at the girls.

Polly laughed out loud and Tamar held her hand over her face to conceal her smile, which she hastily wiped off as the party began to imperiously ascend. There appeared to be several families with children, as well as two or three single men. One of these was white-haired and distinguished-looking, while the other two were quite young, perhaps in their late twenties or early thirties. Each doffed their hat politely as they passed.

From somewhere above a bell rang, evidently a signal the ship was about to cast off as crewmen began to untie ropes holding the ship to the dock, while more trunks and provisions were raced up the gangway. Emigrants began to line the bulwarks for what, for most, would be the last view of their homeland; many wept openly and children cried loudly at their parents’ distress. The
Rebecca Jane
shuddered as the tugboat towing her into Plymouth Sound moved away from the dock.

Tamar felt an aching sadness and bit her lip to stop herself crying again. She would miss Cornwall’s harsh beauty, its wild coastlines and mists and rains, but most of all she would miss her family. But she knew she would never see them again in this life, so did it matter where she was? In a perverse way this made her feel better. She raised her head and let the sharp wind blow into her face and lift her hair.

‘You all right, luv?’ asked Sally.

‘Yes, I’m fine. It’s just that New Zealand’s such a long way away.’

‘I know, but think of them opportunities. A new country, new jobs. New men! They do say there’s three fer every unattached girl!’ She uttered the last comment with such enthusiasm Tamar had to smile.

They stayed on deck until the dock and Plymouth itself had receded into the distance. The wind picked up as the
Rebecca Jane
moved into the sound; her sails were unfurled as the tugboat detached itself, turned around in a lazy half-circle and began heading back into port.

C
HAPTER
T
WO

T
he
Rebecca Jane
was seven days into her voyage. Mild seasickness had set in amongst her less robust passengers almost as soon as she reached open water, but Tamar herself was hardly afflicted; she quickly found her sea legs and as long as she went up on deck for fresh air, she felt fine.

She was sharing the single women’s quarters with another eighteen young women, plus the ship’s matron, Mrs Mary Joseph, a quiet, ineffectual-looking woman in her mid-forties. Her husband, a skilled carpenter, was accommodated in the men’s quarters. Like most on board, they were emigrating to New Zealand to start a new life. Myrna McTaggart’s four girls were also in the single women’s quarters, but Myrna was not. Tamar had come to know the girls, Vivienne, Bronwyn, Jessica and Letitia, quite well over the past week. It was difficult not to, in such intimate and close quarters.

Tamar had remarked that, for sisters, they did not look at all alike, although they were all very pretty. The girls burst out laughing, then informed Tamar they were not sisters and Myrna was not their mother; she was their employer. Myrna ran a training school for domestic servants and had decided to move her business out to New Zealand where the demand for skilled domestics was high. The girls were her first trainees in the new colony. Myrna,
they said, was a shrewd businesswoman and could afford to pay for a private cabin.