Read Online The Touch by Colleen McCullough - Free Book Online
Authors: Colleen McCullough
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play well. Do you sing?”
“I can carry a tune.”
“Well, until I can find you a teacher of piano, you’ll just have to pass your time in reading books and practicing your penmanship.” He leaned to kiss her lightly, clapped his hat on his head and vanished, hollering for his shadow, Summers.
Mrs. Summers appeared to conduct “Marm” over the house, which held few surprises until they reached the library; every room was sumptuous in the style of the Sydney hotel, even echoing the form of its main staircase, a splendid affair. The large drawing room held a harp as well as a full-sized grand piano.
“Brought the tuner all the way from Sydney once the piano was put in the right place—a fair nuisance it is too, what with not being allowed to move it a hair to clean under its legs,” said Mrs. Summers, disgruntled.
The library was definitely Alexander’s lair, for it didn’t have the contrived look the other rooms displayed. Where its vastness wasn’t dark oak bookshelves and dark green leather easy chairs there was Murray tartan—wallpaper, drapes, carpet. But why Murray? Why not his own tartan, Drummond? Drummond was a rich red checkered with multiple green and dark blue lines—a very striking pattern. Whereas Murray had a base of dull green more distantly divided into checks by thin red and dark blue lines. It hadn’t escaped her that her husband’s taste ran to splendor, so why this muted Murray?
“Fifteen thousand books,” said Mrs. Summers, voice awed. “Mr. Kinross has books on everything.” She sniffed. “Except he ain’t got a Bible. Says it’s rubbish. A godless man—godless! But Mr. Summers has been with him since some ship or other they was both aboard, wouldn’t hear of leaving. And I expect I’ll get used to being a housekeeper. House ain’t been finished more’n two months. Until then I just kept house for Mr. Summers.”
“Have you and Mr. Summers any children?” Elizabeth asked.
“No,” said Mrs. Summers shortly. She straightened, smoothed her spotless starched white apron. “I hope, Marm, that youse’ll find me satisfactory.”
“I’m sure I will,” Elizabeth said warmly, and produced her widest smile. “If you kept house for Mr. Summers, where did Mr. Kinross live before this house was built?”
Mrs. Summers blinked, looked shifty. “At the Kinross Hotel, Marm. A very comfortable establishment.”
“Does he own the Kinross Hotel, then?”
“No” was Mrs. Summers’s answer; no matter how hard Elizabeth probed, she refused to be more forthcoming on the subject.
The other servants, the mistress of Kinross House discovered as the tour progressed to kitchen, pantry, wine cellar and laundry, were all Chinese men. Who nodded, smiled, bowed as she passed.
“Men?” she squeaked, horrified. “You mean that men will clean my rooms, wash and iron my clothes? Then I shall deal with my underthings myself, Mrs. Summers.”
“No need to make mountains out of molehills, Marm,” said Mrs. Summers, unperturbed. “Them heathen Chinee been washing for a living long as I know of. Mr. Kinross says they wash so well on account of they’re used to washing silk. It don’t matter that they’re men—they ain’t white men. Just heathen Chinee.”
ELIZABETH’S PERSONAL MAID arrived just after lunch, a female heathen Chinee who to Elizabeth’s eyes was ravishingly beautiful. Frail and willowy, a mouth like a folded flower. Though Elizabeth had never seen Chinese before today, something about the girl said that there was European in her ancestry as well as Chinese. Her eyes were almond shaped, but were widely opened and possessed visible lids. She wore black silk trousers and jacket, and did her thick, straight black hair in the traditional pigtail.
“I am very pleased to be here, Marm. My name is Jade,” she said, standing with her hands clasped together and smiling shyly.
“You’ve no accent,” said Elizabeth, who in the past months had heard many
“I can carry a tune.”
“Well, until I can find you a teacher of piano, you’ll just have to pass your time in reading books and practicing your penmanship.” He leaned to kiss her lightly, clapped his hat on his head and vanished, hollering for his shadow, Summers.
Mrs. Summers appeared to conduct “Marm” over the house, which held few surprises until they reached the library; every room was sumptuous in the style of the Sydney hotel, even echoing the form of its main staircase, a splendid affair. The large drawing room held a harp as well as a full-sized grand piano.
“Brought the tuner all the way from Sydney once the piano was put in the right place—a fair nuisance it is too, what with not being allowed to move it a hair to clean under its legs,” said Mrs. Summers, disgruntled.
The library was definitely Alexander’s lair, for it didn’t have the contrived look the other rooms displayed. Where its vastness wasn’t dark oak bookshelves and dark green leather easy chairs there was Murray tartan—wallpaper, drapes, carpet. But why Murray? Why not his own tartan, Drummond? Drummond was a rich red checkered with multiple green and dark blue lines—a very striking pattern. Whereas Murray had a base of dull green more distantly divided into checks by thin red and dark blue lines. It hadn’t escaped her that her husband’s taste ran to splendor, so why this muted Murray?
“Fifteen thousand books,” said Mrs. Summers, voice awed. “Mr. Kinross has books on everything.” She sniffed. “Except he ain’t got a Bible. Says it’s rubbish. A godless man—godless! But Mr. Summers has been with him since some ship or other they was both aboard, wouldn’t hear of leaving. And I expect I’ll get used to being a housekeeper. House ain’t been finished more’n two months. Until then I just kept house for Mr. Summers.”
“Have you and Mr. Summers any children?” Elizabeth asked.
“No,” said Mrs. Summers shortly. She straightened, smoothed her spotless starched white apron. “I hope, Marm, that youse’ll find me satisfactory.”
“I’m sure I will,” Elizabeth said warmly, and produced her widest smile. “If you kept house for Mr. Summers, where did Mr. Kinross live before this house was built?”
Mrs. Summers blinked, looked shifty. “At the Kinross Hotel, Marm. A very comfortable establishment.”
“Does he own the Kinross Hotel, then?”
“No” was Mrs. Summers’s answer; no matter how hard Elizabeth probed, she refused to be more forthcoming on the subject.
The other servants, the mistress of Kinross House discovered as the tour progressed to kitchen, pantry, wine cellar and laundry, were all Chinese men. Who nodded, smiled, bowed as she passed.
“Men?” she squeaked, horrified. “You mean that men will clean my rooms, wash and iron my clothes? Then I shall deal with my underthings myself, Mrs. Summers.”
“No need to make mountains out of molehills, Marm,” said Mrs. Summers, unperturbed. “Them heathen Chinee been washing for a living long as I know of. Mr. Kinross says they wash so well on account of they’re used to washing silk. It don’t matter that they’re men—they ain’t white men. Just heathen Chinee.”
ELIZABETH’S PERSONAL MAID arrived just after lunch, a female heathen Chinee who to Elizabeth’s eyes was ravishingly beautiful. Frail and willowy, a mouth like a folded flower. Though Elizabeth had never seen Chinese before today, something about the girl said that there was European in her ancestry as well as Chinese. Her eyes were almond shaped, but were widely opened and possessed visible lids. She wore black silk trousers and jacket, and did her thick, straight black hair in the traditional pigtail.
“I am very pleased to be here, Marm. My name is Jade,” she said, standing with her hands clasped together and smiling shyly.
“You’ve no accent,” said Elizabeth, who in the past months had heard many
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