An hour of laundering refocused her mind, and she finally poled out a single load, glad she didn’t need to cope with the shearers’ clothing yet. The men could reek to the high heavens for all she cared as long as she could have respite from endless boiling, stirring, wringing, and transporting to and from the line and the ironing pile. She stood back, her reddened hands on her hips, waiting for the load to cool enough to put through the wringer.
“Where on earth did you find that dreadful gown you’re wearing?” Rose said behind her.
Ella spun around, her body concealing the drying frame. “In the bottom of my tallboy.” She glanced down at the tight, faded floral she wore. “I had it set aside for a patchwork quilt but I decided to give it a second life as my gardening gown first.”
“You should be wearing mourning. What would people say?”
She swallowed. “I don’t have another mourning gown, Rose. That’s why I wore the gray skirt last night. The last black garment I owned has been ruined.” Shifting aside, she indicated the gown that had been drenched in the billabong, hanging rusty and wrinkled over the frame.
Rose put her fingers to her forehead. “Not again. I thought you would have learned from last time that you can’t boil cheap black cotton.”
“I forgot.” Not for the world would she tell Rose she had almost drowned. Rose would not understand her sister’s need to prove herself. Nothing fazed Rose.
Rose gave a sympathetic nod. “I’ve made the bread. And the shearers will want their luncheon any minute. Alf said ‘twelve on the dot.’ If I’m to be ready on time, I’ll need help with the serving.” She had already changed into a looped black silk morning gown, another of those given to her by her doting godmother. “I told Vi she could ride until luncheon, and then she would have to study. I thought that’s what you would have wanted.” She gave a wry lift of her shoulders.
“If you could help me with the mangle, I can be with you sooner.”
Rose eyed the steaming snarls. “Leave your wash to cool.” She left.
Ella followed, hoping Rose meant that when the load cooled she would help.
“Yesterday, when I was talking to Cal”—Ella hesitated while Rose opened the kitchen door—“the new shearer, he said—”
“Nothing that would interest me at this moment, dear. Could you slice the mutton, please? I’ll get the cheese and pickles.”
“He said—”
“You know better than to engage in idle conversation with shearers.” Rose inclined her head, a faint smile on her lips.
“I do know, but I was speaking to him about the wool.” Ella rubbed her forehead.
“You shouldn’t speak to him at all.” Rose calmly emptied a jar of pickled onions into a blue bowl. “You know what shearers are. You’ll only encourage him.”
“There would be no point in me encouraging him,” Ella said, her voice thin with frustration. “He’s a shearer, a seasonal worker who wouldn’t have two pennies to rub together for three quarters of the year. He’s no use to me, and aside from that I could be plastered to him and he would lift me aside. You’re the one men admire.”
“So Papa thought, which is why he expected me to marry well enough to restore his fortune.”
“You can’t believe Papa expected that.”
“His intention was clear.” Rose raised her eyebrows. “He also expected you to take care of Vianna.”
“Of course he did, and of course I would.” Ella’s path had always been set. She had a younger sister to rear and an older sister who needed her support until she married. She sat at the table, absorbing Rose’s perfect features. “But we have to change our plans. We can’t leave in a month as we thought. We can’t get the money for the wool-clip for ages. The drought has virtually stopped the paddle steamers.”
Rose rested her forefinger on her lips. “We’ll put the property on the market, then.”
“But when we sell, we have to pay off the mortgage and settle Papa’s debts. We need the money from the fleeces to live on.”
“Did you tell me this before?”
Ella’s head ached. “You know we won’t have any other income.”
“What if we don’t settle Papa’s debts?”
“We have to. He owed money to people who need it as much as we do,” Ella said, hearing the plea in her tone. “Shopkeepers and the neighbors.”
Rose looked perturbed. “How long do we have to wait for our wool payment?”
“Up to three months.”
“We’ll miss the entire ball season. Not that I mind. But if we only have the money from the fleeces, we’ll soon run out, and then where will we be?”
“We won’t run out if we invest the money and live on the interest.” Ella cleared her throat. The bank had promised ten percent as long as the capital remained undivided. “We sold the fleeces for seven hundred pounds last year, so we won’t have the lifestyle we once had, but if our inheritance stays intact everything will turn out well.”
Rose frowned. “But when we marry we will split our inheritance, of course.” She began to take more food from the larder.
“Of course,” Ella said, her cheeks stiff. She couldn’t insist on Rose aiding her sisters after marriage. If need be, Ella could support Vianna alone. For all she knew the skills of an educated lady would be in great demand in the city. Concentrating, she marked out the bone in the lamb leg. “We should be able to buy a house for less than two hundred pounds, which won’t set us back too much.”
“After we’ve sold the fleeces.” Rose used an insistent voice.
Ella nodded, although she wanted to say they could hardly do so before, given that the only money they had was set aside to pay the shearers.
She had thought when Rose returned she would take over Papa’s affairs, but Rose had no goal other than to return to her former life. Ella would rather stay on the property but she saw no point when she had neither the skills nor the means to run the place.
Dispirited, she did her best to slice the meat evenly, then she loaded the serves onto a big blue and white dish. During the past few months, she had been running on the spot. At least now she knew she only had to keep doing so for another three months. With unlimited supplies of meat, an orchard full of ripening fruit, and a vegetable garden that could be called adequate to their needs, she could manage.
“Just pray we have no rain during the shearing and a dousing afterward.” The kitchen door had already closed behind Rose.
* * * *
After the midday meal, while the team relaxed with a cup of tea, Cal strolled over to the stable paddock with Girl to check that Alf’s Clydesdales had plenty of water. A single stock horse grazed in the area, as well. He grabbed the bucket from the pump and heard snorting and fidgeting inside the stables. Out of pure curiosity, he opened the main door.
He breathed in the tang of horse and hay and leather. The cobbled floor had been neatly swept and a bale of clean straw lay in a corner. Shiny tack dangled from hooks and polished saddles sat across a wooden rail. In the first stall, he saw a neat little Welsh pony. In the adjacent stall stood a lanky, elegant mare with a chestnut coat, and in the next, another of the same. Money had been spent here once and a considerable amount, but now