Tears of the Moon - Di Morrissey [123]
Indeed, it rankled a little with some of Broome’s white society when Tyndall and Olivia made known their plans to include all races and classes of their friends. Ahmed was to be best man, Hamish would proceed his mother down the aisle and Mabel Metta would be matron of honour. Minnie was given her own invitation and had bought bright new hats for herself and her daughter Mollie especially for the occasion.
The day before the wedding, the steamer from Fremantle arrived on the afternoon tide. Tyndall and Olivia planned to sail on it after the wedding reception for a honeymoon in Perth.
There was the usual flurry of activity and socialising when the steamer docked. But one of the passengers elicited more interest than most. She was an attractive woman, although some ladies might be inclined to regard her as a little bit ‘loud’ in manner and dress. A white linen ensemble showed off her curvaceous figure and trim ankles, and under close scrutiny her hair appeared unnaturally fair, her lips artificially red. She stood on the wharf, her blue eyes sweeping over likely candidates to assist her. Holding her hat and a parasol, she had a cabin boy fetch a porter. An enterprising Indian boy, a relative of the Mettas, was first to hoist her bags.
‘There are still trunks to come, I do hope there is some conveyance at hand.’
‘Oh yes, mem, many sulkies and carriage to take you to hotel. No trouble at all.’
‘Oh, I’m not going to a hotel. I’m going to my husband’s house.’
‘Very good, mem.’ He hastened ahead and put the first of her bags in a sulky and helped her settle herself.
She snapped open her parasol. ‘I’m very hot. Could you get the rest of my luggage later?’
The boy hesitated and the driver shrugged. ‘Very good, mem. Where you stay?’
‘With Captain John Tyndall. The pearling master. I am his wife—Mrs Amy Tyndall.’
The porter and the driver stared at her.
‘Captain Tyndall? He know you comin’?’ asked the Indian driver.
She gave a pretty smile. ‘No. It’s a surprise. I’ve come all the way from London.’
The Indian porter shrank back through the crowd as the sulky pulled away. Instead of retrieving the trunks labelled ‘Mrs Amy Tyndall’, he raced along Dampier Terrace directly to the offices of Star of the Sea and rushed up the stairs.
CHAPTER SIXTEEN
Tyndall had difficulty grasping what the perspiring porter was telling him. It was too fantastic to believe.
The porter struggled to get the words out. ‘White lady, yellow hair, fancy clothes, say she wife of Captain Tyndall and tell my brother take her to your house. He tell me I tell Captain Tyndall, quick smart. I got her trunk there; in sulky.’ He wrung his hands feeling wretched, fervently wishing he wasn’t the bearer of this unwelcome news.
Tyndall flipped a coin at the man and thanked him. Then he leaned back in his chair and closed his eyes.
He saw himself as the hesitant young man who had been spellbound by the flirtatious blue eyes, laughing mouth and lusty body of Amy. His father had warned him to stay away from ‘a girl like that’, but she contrived to be in his path wherever he went. The seduction had been swift, and he an eager accomplice. How naive he’d been. She wept and fretted and wailed when she found out she was pregnant. So, once he was over the shock, he had shouldered his responsibility and married the prettiest girl in the village.
The memories of the sagging narrow bed, the smoky grimy cottage, the coughing of her inebriated father, the nagging and whining and paddy temper of what he recognised was a spoiled and lazy girl, drove him swiftly to Belfast and then to London seeking work. He wanted to make the marriage work and hoped that once they were on their own, things would be better. He recalled the freedom of being at sea and the feeling of guilt at leaving his young wife. He had never intended to shirk his duty to Amy. It was simply easier to earn good money at sea. The eventual news of the