‘Your brother’s going to Europe?’ Kitty asked Andrew after Drummond had left the room.
‘Yes. Tomorrow, with Father,’ he replied. ‘Drummond wants to purchase some heads of cattle – his stock dwindled this year due to a drought and the blacks’ spears, and Father has some magnificent pearls to sell from his haul this year and trusts no one to do it for him. Besides, it’s the wet season up in the north, and not a comfortable place to be. Our luggers in Broome are mostly in harbour due to the cyclone season. I will return soon to man the ship, so to speak. I’ve spent the past three years up there learning the ropes from Father and will take over managing it for him from now on, before Mother divorces him for desertion.’ Andrew gave Kitty a rueful smile.
‘I remember her saying that she did not enjoy her time in Broome.’
‘When my mother lived there ten years ago, it was hard for a woman, but as the pearling industry grows, so does the town. And with such a mixed society, it is certainly never dull. An acquired taste but, speaking for myself, I find it exciting. I think you would too, because you have an adventurous spirit.’
‘Do I?’
‘In my opinion, yes. And you seem to take people at face value.’
‘My father – and the Bible,’ she added hastily, ‘say never to judge by creed or colour, but only by a person’s soul.’
‘Yes, Miss McBride. It’s rather interesting, isn’t it, that those who would consider themselves true Christians can behave like the opposite? Ah well . . .’ he said, then lapsed into an embarrassed silence.
‘Now.’ Kitty rose to her feet. ‘I must seek out your mother and offer my help with the preparations for tonight’s party.’
‘That is kind of you, but I doubt she will need it. Like everything she manages, it will be run like a well-oiled machine.’
As Kitty put on her turquoise dress that evening, which Agnes had skilfully steamed to remove any sweat patches, there was a rap on her door. Mrs McCrombie came in bearing a length of plaid.
‘Good evening, my dear Miss McBride. Here is your sash for this evening’s festivities. Courtesy of myself, and my poor departed husband. I shall be proud to see you wearing the McCrombie tartan. In these past few weeks, you have become nothing less than a daughter to me.’
‘I . . . thank you, Mrs McCrombie.’ Kitty was deeply touched by her words. ‘You have been so very kind to me.’
‘May I have the honour of fastening it on for you?’
‘Of course. Thank you.’
‘You know,’ said Mrs McCrombie as she draped the tartan across Kitty’s right shoulder, ‘it has been a pleasure to watch you blossom in the weeks since we left Edinburgh. You were rather a mouse when I first met you. But now look at you!’ Mrs McCrombie fastened a delicate thistle brooch at Kitty’s shoulder. ‘Why, you are a beauty and a credit to your family. You will make any man a wife to be proud of.’
‘Will I . . . ?’ Kitty replied as she allowed herself to be propelled towards the mirror.
‘Look at yourself, Miss Katherine McBride; with your proud Scottish heritage, your clever brain and your pretty physique. Oh, it has amused me so watching my two nephews vie for your attentions in their different ways.’ Mrs McCrombie giggled girlishly and Kitty knew she’d already been at the whisky.
‘So,’ she continued, ‘I have asked myself, which one will she choose? They are both so different. My dear, have you decided which twin it will be?’
Given that Kitty had never even presumed to think that either of the wealthy twins considered her anything other than sport (Drummond) or a younger sister (Andrew), Kitty answered honestly.
‘Really, Mrs McCrombie, I am sure that you are wrong. The Mercers are quite clearly one of the most powerful families in Adelaide . . .’
‘If not Australia,’ Mrs McCrombie added.
‘Yes, and I, as the poor daughter of a minister from Leith, could never consider myself good enough for either of them. Or their family—’
The sound of the doorbell clanging came to her rescue.
‘Well now, my dear.’ Mrs McCrombie took her in a warm, bosomy embrace. ‘Let us just see what happens, shall we? And in case I don’t get the chance to wish you a happy 1907 later tonight, I shall do so now. I just know it will be a happy one.’
Kitty watched as Mrs McCrombie swept from the room, a veritable ship in full sail. Once the door was closed, she collapsed onto her bed in relief and confusion.
*
If there was one thing Kitty knew she was good at, it was dancing reels. She and her siblings had been taught by their mother, partly because Adele loved to dance, but mainly because there wasn’t much else with which to while away a long winter’s evening in Leith. And it had the benefit of keeping them all warm.
And goodness, thought Kitty, as she danced the ‘Duke of Perth’, it was certainly doing that tonight. She envied the men, who at least had the luxury of bare legs in their kilts, while she in her corseted silk dress and heavy tartan sash sweated away like the proverbial pig. Yet tonight, she didn’t care, dancing reel after reel with numerous partners until finally, shortly before midnight, she sat down to rest and Andrew brought her a large glass of fruit punch to quench her thirst.
‘My, my, Miss McBride, we have seen yet another facet of your personality tonight. You are a most accomplished dancer.’
‘Thank you,’ she said, still panting and praying Andrew did not step too close to her, because she was sure she smelt awful.
Minutes later, he led her into the entrance hall with the rest of the guests, so that the old Scottish tradition of welcoming the first person across the threshold at the stroke of midnight could be observed. Gathering around the Christmas tree, which looked forlorn with its shed pine needles pooling into green puddles on the floor, Kitty stood next to Andrew.
‘Ten seconds to go!’ roared Stefan from the crowd, and they began to count down the numbers until the crowd cheered and wished each other affectionate New Year’s greetings.
Kitty suddenly found herself in Andrew’s embrace.
‘Happy New Year, Miss McBride. I wanted to ask . . .’
Kitty saw the anxiety on his face. ‘Yes?’
‘Would it be all right if I called you Kitty from now on?’
‘Why yes, of course.’
‘Well, I do hope that in 1907 we can continue our . . . friendship. I . . . that is, Kitty . . .’
‘Happy New Year, my boy!’ Stefan interrupted their conversation as he slapped his son on the back. ‘I have no doubt at all that you will do me proud in Broome.’
‘I will do my best to, sir,’ Andrew replied.
‘And happy New Year to you too, Miss McBride. You have been a delightful adornment to our family Christmas.’ He leant forward and kissed Kitty warmly, his handlebar moustache tickling her cheek. ‘And I’m sure we both hope that you may decide to extend your time with us in Australia, eh, boy?’ Stefan gave his son an obvious wink before moving on to offer his other guests New Year felicitations.