All That Glisters

Four

But the idea would not go away, and as Christmas rushed ever nearer, Rose nerved herself to approach her uncle and ask if she might go to the ball. She did not even have time to confess to Mr O'Bryan's invitation before he gave her an indignant refusal, followed with two hours of writing, in her best hand, the admonishments from the letters of St Paul about the behaviour of women.

She had expected nothing else, but that did not prevent her despondency. She was disappointed, too, as the Christmas Octave began, and Mr O'Bryan did not appear. She scanned the streets as she shopped, negotiating the excited crowds and looking wistfully at seasonal decorations.

The Campbell household did not celebrate the feast, except with an extra-long church service. No special preparations, no decorations, no presents.

Watching Mrs Moffat and two of her children negotiating with the grocer for baking supplies, arguing about which particular treats they would make, gave her a pang. She and her father used to bake special cakes and other treats at Christmas. They had hung ribbons and greenery to decorate the house, and sung carols together each evening. Christmas day had meant a special meal, and little gifts made or purchased in secret and presented to each other with great delight. At Christmas, more than ever, she missed him.

Mrs Moffat recognised her and stopped to say hello, admonishing the children to stand still or they'd have no treats, nor presents either, perhaps. They grinned, not at all concerned, but waited patiently nonetheless, while Rose asked after the sick child. "She is on the mend, thank the Virgin and all the saints," Mrs Moffat said. "We will be following Mr O'Bryan up to Dunstan in a few weeks; by the end of January, beyond a doubt. And have you heard from the dear man, Miss Campbell?"

Rose shook her head. "He said he hoped to be back in Dunedin before, or just after, Christmas, which is only a few days away."

"Well, if ever the world held a man who keeps his word, it is Mr O'Bryan. An angel from Heaven, he has been to me and mine. Don't think I cannot see you poking your brother, Margaret Moffat. Butter would not melt in her mouth, that one, Miss Campbell, but I have to watch her every minute. I had best be getting them off home, and leave you to do your shopping. Merry Christmas."

Rose wished the same to Mrs Moffat and the children. She expected they would have a happier Christmas than she. It would take more than the kind of miracle Mr O'Bryan had wrought for the Moffat family, to turn Aunt Agnes and Uncle Campbell into Christmas carollers.

Christmas Day was even worse than expected. No Mr O'Bryan, and too much Mr Hackerton. He came home with the Campbells after church and stayed for dinner, and Rose had to endure him and Uncle Campbell discussing her cooking and housekeeping skills, as if she were a piece of merchandise whose purchase Mr Hackerton was considering. Which, of course, she was.

As she and Maisie cleaned up after the meal, she listened to the maid's grumbles with half her attention, much of her focus on whether she could refuse Mr Hackerton's courtship, and what her uncle would do if she did.

Maisie's chatter penetrated her distraction. "... leaving at the end of the quarter, and so I told him. 'I am not your niece, to be kept from any fun and work for nothing every day of the week without a holiday,' I told him."

Maisie was leaving? "But what will you do? Where will you go?"

Maisie scoffed. "Oh, Miss, with servants taking off after gold, and all the new people, there is plenty of work for a willing girl. I don't have to stay where they won't give me a half-day at Christmas. No, I'll see out the quarter, but come 31 December, when my wages is due, I'm taking my leave, and so I have told Mr and Mrs Campbell." She nodded, her lips pursed in satisfaction. "Yes, and you should do the same, Miss."