wearing now – well, suffice it to say that his garb should not serve for a social meeting with a young lady.
But she
was
Beauty. He saw that the gay provocation of her brief theatre costume was replaced by a more discreet walking-out dress: she was now a picture in an ankle-length gown frilled in layers from the knees down. A high pleated collar extended from a ruff around her neck to her shoulders, whence sprang leg-of-mutton sleeves that tapered to tight bands around her wrists. She carried a wide-brimmed straw confection of a hat, made even more festive with bows and trailing ribbons.
What do you say to a vision? ‘I just wanted to tell you how much I enjoyed your performances at the theatre,’ the Patterer began.
‘That’s uncommonly kind of you, Mr —?’
‘Dunne, Miss Hathaway, Nicodemus Dunne.’ He recognised with interest that her street voice differed from the one she used on stage – she was an American, though not the first he had come across. There were many such visitors to Sydney – mainly, of course, sailors and whalers. And for years there had been a small, stable community of such ‘cousins’ (as they were commonly called) working the limekilns at Jack-the-Miller’s Point and across the Cove on the sea fringe of the Government Domain.
‘But of course!’ exclaimed Miss Hathaway. ‘I saw you with Mr Levey during that sad business with Signor Bello. I asked him who you were and he obliged. Very forward of me, I’m sure, most bold. But I guess you’ve gotten to expect that of Americans.’
‘All I would expect of this American,’ said Dunne – rather smoothly, he thought – ‘is that she may agree to be shown points of interest in this town.’
‘Are you free, Mr Dunne?’ Miss Hathaway looked keenly at her new companion.
The Patterer considered the ambiguity of the question. Well, he thought, legally my body has about a year of my gaol sentence to run, though I am a ticket-of-leave man, on parole. At heart, a girl I thought I was beginning to love is recently gone. Oh, and lately I have slept with my landlady…‘I’m free, Miss Hathaway,’ he replied firmly.
‘Then, yes,’ she said, ‘perhaps you could show me some of the sights. I really only know the theatre environs at all well, even though I arrived here at the end of last fall.’
‘What have you seen today?’ asked Dunne.
‘Oh, I saw a strange sight outside a quite grand house near the theatre. A man was laying down straw thickly on the street outside. Why would he do that?’
‘Well,’ explained the Patterer, ‘it’s useless, but thoughtful. I imagine someone inside that house is ill and the straw is intended to decrease the rattle and grind of carriage wheels and the hammering of horses’ hooves. It’s practical back in England, on cobbled or otherwise paved thoroughfares. But here it’s all dirt, or mud. So far.’
‘Of course,’ said Miss Hathaway, ‘how silly of me. We do that at home. When a woman is
enceinte
, too. That’s why one in a certain condition is delicately referred to as being “in the straw” – although I’m sure many a farm girl has gotten that far by having been in the straw earlier! Forgive me, I should only ask if you have the first meaning here.’
‘I believe so,’ he said, marvelling at her forthright manner. ‘But I didn’t know if I should say so, to you.’
‘Oh, Nick – you don’t mind that form of address, do you? – you can say most things to me!’
‘If I’m permitted to ask you anything,’ ventured the Patterer, ‘may I say that you don’t sound very American? I mean, apart from saying “fall” for autumn and “gotten”, you sound unlike other “cousins” I have come across. Why is that?’
Miss Hathaway laughed delightedly. ‘I try not to sound too Yankee with, shall we say, foreigners. But I could sound very American if I chose to. For instance, I could say that you are barking up the wrong tree. It’s not a chore to have a yen to be
But she
was
Beauty. He saw that the gay provocation of her brief theatre costume was replaced by a more discreet walking-out dress: she was now a picture in an ankle-length gown frilled in layers from the knees down. A high pleated collar extended from a ruff around her neck to her shoulders, whence sprang leg-of-mutton sleeves that tapered to tight bands around her wrists. She carried a wide-brimmed straw confection of a hat, made even more festive with bows and trailing ribbons.
What do you say to a vision? ‘I just wanted to tell you how much I enjoyed your performances at the theatre,’ the Patterer began.
‘That’s uncommonly kind of you, Mr —?’
‘Dunne, Miss Hathaway, Nicodemus Dunne.’ He recognised with interest that her street voice differed from the one she used on stage – she was an American, though not the first he had come across. There were many such visitors to Sydney – mainly, of course, sailors and whalers. And for years there had been a small, stable community of such ‘cousins’ (as they were commonly called) working the limekilns at Jack-the-Miller’s Point and across the Cove on the sea fringe of the Government Domain.
‘But of course!’ exclaimed Miss Hathaway. ‘I saw you with Mr Levey during that sad business with Signor Bello. I asked him who you were and he obliged. Very forward of me, I’m sure, most bold. But I guess you’ve gotten to expect that of Americans.’
‘All I would expect of this American,’ said Dunne – rather smoothly, he thought – ‘is that she may agree to be shown points of interest in this town.’
‘Are you free, Mr Dunne?’ Miss Hathaway looked keenly at her new companion.
The Patterer considered the ambiguity of the question. Well, he thought, legally my body has about a year of my gaol sentence to run, though I am a ticket-of-leave man, on parole. At heart, a girl I thought I was beginning to love is recently gone. Oh, and lately I have slept with my landlady…‘I’m free, Miss Hathaway,’ he replied firmly.
‘Then, yes,’ she said, ‘perhaps you could show me some of the sights. I really only know the theatre environs at all well, even though I arrived here at the end of last fall.’
‘What have you seen today?’ asked Dunne.
‘Oh, I saw a strange sight outside a quite grand house near the theatre. A man was laying down straw thickly on the street outside. Why would he do that?’
‘Well,’ explained the Patterer, ‘it’s useless, but thoughtful. I imagine someone inside that house is ill and the straw is intended to decrease the rattle and grind of carriage wheels and the hammering of horses’ hooves. It’s practical back in England, on cobbled or otherwise paved thoroughfares. But here it’s all dirt, or mud. So far.’
‘Of course,’ said Miss Hathaway, ‘how silly of me. We do that at home. When a woman is
enceinte
, too. That’s why one in a certain condition is delicately referred to as being “in the straw” – although I’m sure many a farm girl has gotten that far by having been in the straw earlier! Forgive me, I should only ask if you have the first meaning here.’
‘I believe so,’ he said, marvelling at her forthright manner. ‘But I didn’t know if I should say so, to you.’
‘Oh, Nick – you don’t mind that form of address, do you? – you can say most things to me!’
‘If I’m permitted to ask you anything,’ ventured the Patterer, ‘may I say that you don’t sound very American? I mean, apart from saying “fall” for autumn and “gotten”, you sound unlike other “cousins” I have come across. Why is that?’
Miss Hathaway laughed delightedly. ‘I try not to sound too Yankee with, shall we say, foreigners. But I could sound very American if I chose to. For instance, I could say that you are barking up the wrong tree. It’s not a chore to have a yen to be
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