Read Online As the Earth Turns Silver by Alison Wong - Free Book Online Page B

tea.
    Flames leapt in the fireplace. The brightly coloured flowers, leaves and tendrils of the carpet; the dark, wood-turned furniture; the bamboo and palms positioned about the room formed crazy patterns in Katherine’s eyes. It was not cold, not inside, and yet Katherine could feel her hands shaking. She held them in her lap, unable to lift the teacup to her lips.
    â€˜It must be difficult for you,’ Mrs Newman said, ‘since your husband died. Tell me, how old are the children?’
    She was in her late forties, a slim woman with grey streaking her chestnut hair. For the first time, Katherine looked her fully in the face. She had strong, handsome features with prominent cheekbones, and grey eyes that seemed very firm yet also not without kindness.
    Mrs Newman talked about destitute women and children. Widows or women abandoned by scoundrels. Women who could not afford to leave their violent, beer-addled husbands. In her youth, Mrs Newman had been in the women’s movement, campaigning alongside Kate Sheppard and Lily Atkinson, writing letters to the papers and politicians. Was Katherine registered for the vote?
    â€˜Yes,’ Katherine said. And yet once it wouldn’t have been as easy. Donald had thought women’s franchise a ridiculous idea. He supported Seddon on that, just as he did on almost every one of his policies. But even the Premier could not withstand pressure from within his own party. By the next election Donald had changed his mind. Yes, of course Katherine should vote. Then there would be two votes for the Liberals.
    Mrs Newman smiled, took a sip of her tea. ‘A piece of cake?’ she said.
    Katherine’s throat felt so tight she could barely talk. How could she eat cake also? She tried to decline gracefully.
    â€˜You worked in the office of Kirkcaldie & Stains? I just bought this bodice and skirt from Kirkcaldie’s the other week. Why, thank you. Though if you want the very latest in European fashion, Sydney is far better. I go every winter to visit my sister.’
    The warmer, drier climate was better for Mrs Newman’s asthma and also for the ache she’d begun to feel in her fingers. She always went for several weeks, and during that time Katherine would need to work for at most a couple of hours each day. Just enough time to open the mail, skim the newspapers and telegraph her if there was anything urgent. Katherine would remain on full pay, of course, £3 a week, she wouldn’t need to worry about the bills . . .
    Katherine was stunned. That was as much as Donald had earned. She would work far fewer hours and still be able to buy meat every day, and butter and oranges. They could move to a bigger house with hot running water and a painted picket fence and a gate that did not fall over.
    â€˜You can take a holiday,’ Mrs Newman was saying. ‘Visit your mother in Masterton, perhaps.’
    Katherine nodded. She didn’t mention she never visited her mother for more than a few days. Her constant nagging and pronouncements on the sad death of Donald always made her desperate to escape home to Wellington. Thank God her mother had remarried and moved away.
    Mrs Newman put down her teacup. ‘Bring your daughter around after school to play the piano. I shall pay for lessons. A young lady should be able to play with facility. Of course, if your son is interested he is also welcome.’ She stood up. ‘Would you like to start next week?’
    *
    Margaret Newman stood at the bay window and watched as Katherine shut the iron gate and walked down the hill. She should probably have found a more experienced and capable assistant, but then she could never resist organising and bettering other people’s lives. She considered it a form of patronage, her own experiment in eugenics. Better to pay Katherine well, even if it was more than her qualifications warranted, than abandon her to charity. After all, she was the same age her own