Page 42 of The Pearl Sister
Kitty’s eyes were transfixed by the gleaming, dancing bead sitting above Edith’s considerable bosom. She marvelled both at the size of such a precious jewel, and the indifference with which Edith had seemed to greet it.
‘You like pearls?’ Andrew, who was sitting next to her on a velvet-covered chaise longue, asked her.
‘I love them,’ she replied. ‘I was forever opening clams on the beach back in Leith to find one, but, of course, I never did.’
‘No, and I doubt you ever would have done. They need a particular climate and breed of oyster, not to mention many, many years to come to fruition.’
After the present opening, everyone retired to their rooms to change before dinner, and Kitty took the opportunity to see what exactly it was that Drummond had decided to give her for Christmas. Knowing him, a bottle of whisky or a dead huntsman spider in a frame . . . The package was so tiny that it took her some time to root about in the bottom of her wardrobe to find it. It was an unremarkable box, tied with a simple ribbon. She opened it eagerly, and found a small grey stone nestled inside.
She picked it up and felt its coolness on her hot palm, feeling perplexed at why he had given this to her. Just like any pebble she could find on a beach in Leith, it was a plain slate grey, and even when she held it to the light she could not see any interesting striations in it.
But when she turned it over, she saw it was carved on the other side. Fascinated, she ran her fingers over the ridges and valleys, the edges of which had been rounded with age and much handling, but she was unable to make out a shape or a word.
Stowing it in the cabinet next to her bed, and feeling mean-hearted for her earlier harsh thoughts on Drummond’s gift, she called Agnes in to help her into her new dress and fasten the tiny mother-of-pearl buttons that ran from the bottom of her back up to her neck. Already feeling far too hot, and trussed up like the proverbial Christmas turkey, her reflection in the mirror made up for it. The colour of the silk complemented her eyes perfectly, making them shine turquoise. As Agnes fastened Drummond’s ribbon into her curls, Kitty dabbed some rouge onto her cheeks, then stood up and went downstairs to join the party.
‘Well, well, you look quite lovely tonight, Miss McBride,’ said Mrs McCrombie with the proud air of a mother hen. ‘I knew that colour would suit you the minute I saw it.’
‘Thank you very much, Mrs McCrombie. It’s the best Christmas present I’ve ever had,’ Kitty replied fervently as the doorbell rang to announce more Christmas Eve guests and they walked through to the drawing room to join those who had recently arrived.
‘The best present, eh?’ said a low voice from behind her. ‘Charmed, I’m sure.’
It was Drummond, looking smart in full evening dress.
‘I was simply being polite. Thank you for the ribbon . . . and the stone, but I have to confess, I have no idea what it is.’
‘That, my dear Miss McBride, is a very rare and precious thing. It’s called a tjurunga stone, and it once belonged to a native of the Arrernte Aboriginal tribe. It would have been his most precious possession, presented to him at his initiation into manhood as a symbol of his special responsibilities.’
‘Goodness,’ breathed Kitty. Then her eyes narrowed. ‘You didn’t steal it, did you?’
‘What on earth do you take me for? As a matter of fact, I found it a few weeks ago when I was crossing the Outback on my way here from the cattle station. I slept in a cave and there it was.’
‘I hope the person to whom it belongs hasn’t missed it.’
‘I’m sure he is long dead, and won’t complain. Now, Miss McBride’ – Drummond reached out to a passing drinks tray and took two glasses from it – ‘may I offer you a little sherry?’
Kitty saw the twinkle in his eye and refused. ‘No, thank you.’
‘I must admit, you’ve scrubbed up rather well tonight,’ he said as he gulped down the dainty amount of sherry in one, then proceeded to drain the one she had refused, too. ‘Merry Christmas, Kitty,’ he said softly. ‘So far, it’s been an utter . . . adventure, to make your acquaintance.’
‘Miss McBride . . .’
Kitty turned and found Andrew at her side. And thought that it really was most disconcerting having a pair of identical twins in the same room; one felt as though one was seeing double.
‘Good evening, Andrew, and thank you for my beautiful earrings. I’m wearing them tonight.’
‘I’m happy to see they go well with your lovely dress. May I offer you a small sherry to toast the Yuletide?’
‘Miss McBride is teetotal. Never touches a drop, do you?’ Drummond murmured next to her.
As he ambled off across the room, Kitty wondered how long it would be before she was moved to slap him just to remove the smug smile from his face. The guests soon assembled in the dining room, where a sumptuous feast awaited them: roast goose, traditional roast potatoes and even a haggis that Mrs McCrombie had stored in the ship’s cold room on the voyage over. From their fine clothes and the women’s jewels, Kitty knew she was sharing a Christmas feast with thecreme de la cremeof Adelaide society. A pleasant German gentleman who spoke perfect English sat to her right, and told her of his brewing business and his vineyards, which apparently flourished in the Adelaide Hills.
‘The climate is similar to that of southern France, and the grapes grow well. Mark my words, in a few years’ time, the world will be buying Australian wine. This’ – he reached for a bottle and showed it to her – ‘is one of ours. Can I entice you to try a drop?’
‘No thank you, sir,’ she said in a hushed voice, not able to stand another knowing look from Drummond, sitting across the table from her.
Once the dinner was over, a crowd gathered round the piano and sang ‘Stille Nachfin German, followed by traditional British Christmas carols. When the repertoire was exhausted, Edith, who had already displayed a surprising talent on the piano, turned to her eldest son.
‘Andrew, will you sing for us?’
