The Luminaries

the woman said, reaching out to press Anna’s hand, ‘what a lamb you are, to ask. You see, I run a boarding house for girls here in Dunedin. I received a letter from Miss Mackay some weeks ago, introducing herself, paying her board in advance, and promising that she would be arriving today! Here.’ The woman produced a crumpled letter. ‘You can see: she makes no mistake about the date.’
    Anna did not take the letter. ‘I’m sorry,’ she said, shaking her head. ‘I’m sure there’s no mistake.’
    ‘Oh, I do apologise,’ said the woman. ‘You can’t read.’
    Anna blushed. ‘Not very well.’
    ‘Never mind, never mind,’ the woman said, tucking the letter back into her sleeve. ‘Oh, but I am excessively distressed about my poor Miss Mackay. I am terribly distressed! What could be the meaning of it—when she promised to be arriving on
this
day—on
this
sailing—and yet—as you attest—she never boarded at all! You’re quite sure about it? You’re quite sure there were no young women aboard?’
    ‘I’m sure there’s a simple explanation,’ Anna said. ‘Perhaps she took ill at the last minute. Or perhaps she sent a letter with apologies, and it was misdirected.’
    ‘You are so good to comfort me,’ said the woman, pressing her hand again. ‘And you are right: I ought to be sensible, and not permit myself these flights of fancy. I’ll only get worried, if I think of her coming to any kind of harm.’
    ‘I’m sure that it will all come out right,’ Anna said.
    ‘Sweet child,’ said the woman, patting her. ‘I am so glad to make the acquaintance of such a sweet, pretty girl. Mrs. Wells is my name: Mrs. Lydia Wells.’
    ‘Miss Anna Wetherell,’ said Anna, dropping a curtsey.
    ‘But hark at me, worrying about one girl travelling alone, when I am talking to another,’ said Mrs. Wells, smiling now. ‘How is it that
you
have come to be travelling without a chaperone, Miss Wetherell? You are affianced to a digger here, perhaps!’
    ‘I’m not affianced,’ said Anna.
    ‘Perhaps you are answering a summons of some kind! Your father—or some other relative—who is here already, and has sent for you—’
    Anna shook her head. ‘I’ve just come to start over.’
    ‘Well, you have chosen the perfect place in which to do just that,’ said Mrs. Wells. ‘Everyone starts anew in this country; there is simply no other way to do it! Are you quite alone?’
    ‘Quite alone.’
    ‘That is very brave of you, Miss Wetherell—it is excessively brave! I am cheered to know that you were not wanting for female company on your crossing, but now I should like to know at once whether you have secured lodging, here in Dunedin. There are agreat many disreputable hotels in this city. Someone as pretty as you has a great need of good advice from a good quarter.’
    ‘I thank you for your kind concern,’ Anna said. ‘I meant to stop in at Mrs. Penniston’s; that is where I am bound this afternoon.’
    The other woman looked aghast. ‘Mrs.
Penniston’s
!’
    ‘The place was recommended to me,’ said Anna, frowning. ‘Can you not also recommend it?’
    ‘Alas—I cannot,’ said Mrs. Wells. ‘If you had mentioned any lodging house in the city but Mrs.
Penniston’s
! She is a very low woman, Miss Wetherell. A very low woman. You must keep your distance from the likes of her.’
    ‘Oh,’ said Anna, taken aback.
    ‘Tell me again why you have come to Dunedin,’ said Mrs. Wells, speaking warmly now.
    ‘I came because of the rushes,’ Anna said. ‘Everyone says there’s more gold in a camp than there is in the ground. I thought I’d be a camp follower.’
    ‘Do you mean to find employment—as a barmaid, perhaps?’
    ‘I can tend bar,’ Anna said. ‘I’ve done hotel work. I’ve a steady hand, and I’m honest.’
    ‘Have you a reference?’
    ‘A good one, ma’am. From the Empire Hotel in Union-street, in Sydney.’
    ‘
Excellent
,’ said Mrs. Wells. She looked Anna up and down, smiling .
    ‘If you cannot endorse Mrs. Penniston’s,’ Anna began, but Mrs. Wells interrupted her.
    ‘Oh!’ she cried, ‘I have the perfect solution—to solve
both
our dilemmas—yours
and
mine! It has just come to me! My Miss Mackay has paid for a week’s lodging, and she is not here to occupy the room she paid for in advance.
You
must take it.
You
must come and be my Miss Mackay, until we find you some employment, and set you on your feet.’
    ‘That is very kind, Mrs. Wells,’ said