Free Tamar by Deborah Challinor

six or seven framed portraits of unsmiling, dreary-looking people. The curtains were heavy and draped so little sunlight could penetrate the room.
    ‘God,’ said Tamar, perching gingerly on the edge of one of the sofas. ‘I’m glad I don’t have to dust in here.’
    ‘Well, we might yet, if we run out of money,’ said Jane. ‘Be good practice, though, fer domestic service.’ Jane and Sally intended to go into service as soon as they could, while Tamar and Polly, also a seamstress, were looking for sewing positions.
    ‘Now, ladies,’ said Mrs Barriball as she swished back into the room. ‘Sit down, please, while I avail you of the rules. Which,’ she added, looking at them sternly over the top of her small spectacles, ‘I expect to be adhered to. I run a respectable establishment and there is no place for slovenliness, low morals or unladylike behaviour.’
    She seated herself in one of the chairs next to the fire and took a deep breath. ‘First, there will be no gentleman callers. You may have lady friends to visit, whom you may entertain in the parlour, but no gentlemen. There is a strict curfew of nine thirty at night. Second, I expect a high standard of neatness and cleanliness. You will attend to your own rooms but I will supply you with clean linenon a regular basis. You will do your personal laundry in the laundry at the back of the house. There are chamber pots under your beds, but I would appreciate you availing yourselves of the privy off the laundry whenever possible. Breakfast is at six thirty in the morning and supper at seven thirty in the evening. You will have to provide your own luncheon. No cooking in your rooms, and no alcohol or tobacco.’ Mrs Barriball paused briefly, then continued. ‘You may not be here long as the job market is not what it used to be. I am not out to rob young women of their money, but I charge the going rate for a clean, wholesome, quality establishment, and I doubt any of you has independent means,’ she said not unkindly, glancing at the girls’ worn and plain clothes. ‘But while you are here, I hope you enjoy your stay. Now, do you have any questions?’
    No one did, so Mrs Barriball showed the girls to their individual rooms. Tamar’s was upstairs at the front of the house, overlooking Ponsonby Road. The room was furnished with an iron bedstead, a wardrobe and a mirrored chest of drawers on which sat a large china ewer and bowl, and a straight-backed wooden chair in front of a small writing table, on which a Bible had been conspicuously placed. There was a large rug in the middle of the floor and several paintings on the walls. It was nowhere near as fussily decorated as the parlour, but it was comfortable. Tamar unpacked her belongings, then went to sit quietly on the verandah, her mind contemplating the events of the last few months and what the future might hold.
     
    The following day the girls rose early, breakfasted, and walked to the end of Ponsonby Road. Mrs Barriball loudly disapproved their lack of chaperone but they politely ignored her. The unpaved road was dotted with puddles and piles of horse dung and before long they were hitching their skirts out of the mud.

    ‘Me boots aren’t going ter last long at this rate,’ complained Sally. ‘An’ I’ve only got the one pair.’
    At the end of Ponsonby Road they spent some of their precious money on a public carriage into the central commercial district around the wharves and lower Queen Street. They wandered about for most of the morning, gazing at the new brick and plaster commercial buildings interspersed with older, less grand wooden shops and premises. Occasionally they passed small groups of Maori sitting or standing in the street dressed in an eclectic range of European clothing. The girls were fascinated and a little unnerved as they had never seen dark-skinned people, especially not with exotically tattooed faces. Tamar noticed some of the women had tattooed chins, whereas the men with