Mixed Blessings

By Amanda Giorgis

The girls are growing up. Not for them the daily grind of family life. Not yet anyway. After all, it is 1873. Women have more opportunities than ever before, especially in New Zealand in an era of great prosperity and progress.

Five years have passed since we last visited the Mackenzies. Applecross sheep station is thriving, more people than ever have made it their home. There are changes everywhere, big and small, but James and Sophia remain the solid, dependable mainstay of life in the rural community. Until a dramatic incident rocks the very foundations of Mackenzie’s Basin.

We join Heather, Caroline and Adey Rose, daughters of the Basin, as they blossom into young ladies, find their feet in the burgeoning city of Christchurch and take their first hesitant steps into the world of romance.

However, the draw of Applecross is strong........

• Language: English
• Publisher: Amanda Giorgis
• Release date: Apr 1, 2022
• ISBN: 9781005416737

Amanda Giorgis

Amanda Giorgis was born in Somerset, England. She emigrated to New Zealand in 2008 and moved to the beautiful Mackenzie Basin.Amanda writes while looking out onto the flat plains with snow-capped mountains beyond. It is a place where it is easy to find inspiration for stories of early pioneers, who made this unique place their home.She shares her home with her husband, Terry and three rescued huntaway dogs, Nemo, Jess and Ted, some chickens, who are more ornamental than productive, ten acres of wild garden and the dark skies of the Southern Hemisphere.When not writing, Amanda rings church bells and enjoys photography, gardening and finding out about her family history. On lazy days, she gets the knitting needles out.

Book preview

1. John Douglass

January 1856 - The Tasman Sea.

F lames licking at the door created a sinister orange glow. Whispers of black smoke made their way through the cracks between the thick wooden planks, drawn towards the ceiling by the heat. John had to find a way to escape but his manacled feet felt heavy with the chains that held him captive. If he could reach the tiny, barred window, he would be able to call for help. At least he could take some much-needed air into his rasping lungs.

Mackenzie. Wake up! he heard someone calling James, but his good friend was nowhere to be seen. Someone was shaking him. Perhaps it was one of the prison guards. How had he got into the cell without the fire following him? Where were his cell mates? He cared not a jot for those two evil rogues, but he was worried for James. After all, he had a wife and a dog to go home to.

John ’ s muddled thoughts began to put themselves back into order as he dragged himself out of sleep and away from the terrible nightmare. Fire in the overcrowded prison had always concerned him. Even though he was now a free man, the idea of burning alive haunted him, especially at night. It took him a few more moments to understand that the someone who had been shaking him really did want him to wake up. And then another moment to remember his name. Well, at least the name he was using on this journey to Australia.

For John Douglass, travelling under the name of his cellmate and friend, James Mackenzie, there had been plenty of time to consider their small subterfuge since boarding the Isabella Hercus in Lyttelton harbour. A condition of James Mackenzie ’ s pardon was that he travel to Australia on his release, but by doing so he would be leaving Sophia behind, not to mention his beloved dog, Friday. On the other hand, there was nothing to keep John Douglass in New Zealand and every reason to leave the memories of his own false imprisonment behind. By simply agreeing to swap identities, James was free to travel south to be reunited with his family, while John could make a fresh start over in Australia. The two men hoped that, over time, they could revert to their given names without further issues, but John could not rid himself of the fear of being found out. He knew only too well that he would go mad if he was condemned to a prison cell again and a bed in the lunatic asylum was an even more dreadful prospect. So here he was, using the name of James Mackenzie, half way across the sea that lay between New Zealand and Australia. He hoped that the true James Mackenzie was well on his way home to his beloved Sophia by now.

He had done his best to keep himself to himself on the first few days on board the ship bound for Brisbane. It wasn ’ t hard to do so either. There were other men who travelled alone and were not keen to tell the world what they were up to. The ship ’ s ultimate destination was Plymouth in England, and John suspected a good few of his fellow passengers were returning to their homeland after failing to make the fortune they had sought overseas. In the main, he had been left alone with his own thoughts. Over supper on the first night, sitting at the narrow wooden table which ran the length of the overcrowded dormitory, he had chosen to respond only by admitting that he worked with horses when asked what he did for a living. Other than that, he doubted any of his fellow travellers cared about him, or even noticed him. So why did they need him now?

Come on, Mackenzie. You are needed down below, said the man who had been sent to fetch him. You know about horses, don ’ t you? said the man impatiently, as John sat up and rubbed his tired eyes with his fists, as if to wipe the sleep out of them.

I do, but why me? replied John.

Can you not hear the noise? continued the man. One of the horses down below is kicking up a stink and has tied himself in knots. If you can ’ t calm him, he will have to be shot.

Now he came to think of it there was a lot of clattering over and above the normal sound of a wooden ship cutting through the waves. Even louder were the occasional dreadful wails of an animal in distress. It was enough to get John standing and into his boots, following the man out into the corridor and down the steep steps to the hold in the very bottom of the ship ’ s keel.

In the darkness it took John a few moments to take stock of the situation. A pool of light from a single lantern lit up the pen where the horses were tethered for the journey. John could see immediately that one poor horse was in terrible danger. Without a thought for his own safety, John put a foot on the bottom rung of the rough wooden fence surrounding the animal pens and pushed himself over the top. His weak left leg failed to hold him upright as he landed, and he fell headfirst into the thick layer of muck-ridden straw. The poor creature, one front leg suspended in mid-air by his tether, turned this way and that, his back legs coming dangerously close to trampling John ’ s head into the ground.

Whoa, boy, said John, as he scrambled to his feet. Steady now.

Gently, John reached a hand out to stroke the horse ’ s neck. Knowing that his own fear would so easily be transferred to the horse, he did his very best to stay calm, whispering words of comfort to the poor creature. At first, the animal ’ s nostrils flared, his eyes bulged and his head moved erratically from side to side in a vain attempt to free himself of the rope that had tied him up. Spittle spread far and wide, splashing John ’ s face and mixing with the straw and muck already attached to his clothes.

John held a hand up to quieten the onlookers. Step back and stay quiet, please, he ordered, and was surprised when they meekly did as he asked. He was not used to being in charge, but the other men sensed that this chap knew about horses. Slowly, the horse began to relax as John transferred calm thoughts through his hand and onto the horse ’ s flank, which gave the occasional twitch in response. Those watching were overwhelmed by the transformation. John could hear snippets of whispered conversations containing words like, ‘ magic ’ and ‘ genius ’ , but it was nothing to him. In his experience, animals, and especially horses, were so much easier to deal with than people.

Once the horse had calmed down and stopped pulling against the rope, it stood still on three legs, the fourth still held aloft by the tethering rope. John could not see any damage done to the trapped leg, so he used his free hand to reach for the knife he always kept in his pocket. It took him a moment to remove it from the leather sheath one-handed. He then set about hacking through the rope, all the time continuing to stroke the horse with his other hand. As the last strands gave way under his blade, the horse stamped his freed leg and twisted awkwardly to one side.

Steady, John repeated, sliding his hand down the remains of the rope so that he had a good hold and could lead the horse to an empty stall. Taking another coil of rope from a hook, he popped the loop end over the horse ’ s head and tied the long end to a ring high up on the wall.

If you must tether the animals, you should do it up high, said John to the young stable lad who had been doing his best to merge into the wooden walls of the hold in sheer terror. John pointed to the metal ring set above his head, Up here, look, he said.

Yes sir, sorry sir, mumbled the boy. He looked terrified and John felt some sympathy for him, despite the incident being entirely his fault.

Never mind, lad, said John. No harm done. Now, go and make sure the other animals are tied in the same way, high enough to make sure they can ’ t get a leg caught. Those lower rings are there for goats and calves, not for horses.

Thank you, sir, said the lad, before setting out to put things right. He was glad to look busy because the boss had just arrived. His face looked like thunder. John got the feeling he had not taken kindly to being raised from his bed.

I ’ ll have that lad ’ s guts for garters, said the boss, addressing John. What was he thinking?

Holding a hand out towards John, he continued, Kirby Askew, at your service, sir. May I thank you for saving the day? Or perhaps I should say the night.

John shook hands with the man, but not before removing the manure from his fingers by wiping both hands on his jacket. Mr Askew towered above John ’ s diminutive stature and had a firm handshake. John suspected he could be a fearsome boss.

Don ’ t be too harsh on the lad, sir, he said. He has only done wrong if he failed to obey instructions. You can ’ t blame him if he is ignorant of the danger.

Humph, was Askew ’ s response. It seems you are kind to humans as well as to animals, my fellow. And that is a trait I admire in a man. May I ask your name?

There was a moment ’ s hesitation before John replied. He was not entirely sure whether he should reply with his given name of John Douglass, or that under which he was travelling.

My name is James Mackenzie, John replied, hoping the pause had not been noticed by those around him. Now that the drama was over, the men were drifting back to their beds anyway. It was not long before Mr Askew and John were alone, the only sounds to be heard were the snuffling and snorting of the assortment of animals in the hold. The young stable lad had completed his task of adjusting the tethers and had taken the opportunity to remove himself from the boss ’ view as soon as he could.

Take breakfast with me, sir, said Askew. John felt it was more of an order than a request, but he guessed he may eat better than the bowl of gruel shared with the other passengers in steerage, so he would not turn the offer down.

I will. Thank you, sir, he replied.

Shall we say two bells into the forenoon watch? asked Mr Askew. I ’ ll send my man to bring you to my cabin.

John had no idea when he was supposed to visit Mr Askew as he had never felt the need to understand the combination of bells being rung aboard ship. Before he could reply, Mr Askew nodded in John ’ s direction and turned, ducking through the low door and leaving John on his own. Before returning to his bed, John gave the horse whose life he had saved a final pat and wished him goodnight. Why, he thought to himself, do I find it easier to relate to horses than I do to humans?

When Kirby Askew ’ s steward came down the stairs to the steerage cabin, John was dressed and ready, having done his best to wipe the saliva, muck and straw from his only jacket. The steward gave the impression of pomposity, holding his nose high in the air to avoid the stench of those who travelled in the lower classes. Nevertheless, he led John upwards to a part of the ship he had never seen before. Knocking gently on a heavy wooden door, John was ushered into Askew ’ s cabin. In sharp contrast to the conditions below deck, the room, though small, was furnished with two soft leather couches, a bunk bed, hidden from view by richly embroidered curtains and a wooden table which appeared to be bolted to the floor. A small round porthole window offered a glimpse of the rolling waves and a watery daylight.

Ah, good morning Mr Mackenzie. Come in good fellow, said Askew, indicating the empty seat opposite his own.

John slid into his seat, wondering how the portly Mr Askew managed to fit into the narrow gap between table and chair. It occurred to him that, should he eat a hearty breakfast, he may never be able to escape.

As he settled himself into the comfort of the seat, the steward entered the room carrying a tray on which were a silver teapot, a jug and two china cups and saucers. After placing them on the table, he disappeared once more, returning soon afterwards with a tureen of steaming porridge. On his third appearance, the steward placed several small containers of preserves, sugars and syrups on the table, with two china bowls and silver spoons.

I find that porridge warms the soul and provides the best start to the day on board, said Kirby Askew. Addressing his steward, he continued, Skimmings, you may serve.

The porridge in John ’ s bowl looked remarkably like the lumpy and tasteless gruel which was ladled into their wooden bowls down in steerage, but, with the addition of a spoon full of dark brown sugar and another of strawberry conserve, it tasted like a different thing altogether. Silky smooth, sweet and light, John resisted the urge to shovel it into his mouth at great speed. Having received many a clip round the ear as a child for trying to speak with his mouth full, John took a small spoon at a time, stopping in between to take a sip of tea.

The same table manners had presumably not been taught to Mr Askew, who ate noisily and messily. Spraying John with splashes of milky oats, Askew obviously intended to talk as he ate, waving his spoon in the air to emphasise things.

Now young man, tell me how you come to know so much about horses, he said, not pausing for John to respond. I must say I fully expected to shoot that animal, and yet you calmed it down with a few whispered words. ’ Tis sheer sorcery, for sure.

I don ’ t know, sir, replied John, when he could get a word in. I just talk to them, and they seem to understand.

It is a rare gift. I envy you for it, continued Askew. There was a brief pause while he took a gulp of tea, draining the cup in one swallow. I ’ ll not beat about the bush. Whatever plans you had when we reach Australia, throw them out and work for me.

It took John a moment to realise that Mr Askew was offering him a job, although it felt like more of a command than something John could choose to do or not.

But, what would I be doing, sir? replied John. What is the nature of your business, may I ask?

Apologies, said Askew, you will find me a direct sort of a fellow. But, of course, you will need to know more about things before you accept. And you may have other plans, though I will do my damnedest to offer you more than any employment you have lined up.

Kirby Askew then went on to explain that he owned a stud farm near the town of Ipswich, inland from Brisbane. John was amazed to hear that he owned over one hundred horses and made a business out of breeding from his brood mares and selling the services of his stallions to other such stud owners. What was even more remarkable to John was that these horses were not working beasts, they would never pull carriages or plough the land or take a man to market. They were simply bred for the sport of racing.

What use would I be in such a place? asked John. I know nothing of the sport, nor much about raising good stock.

I have a feeling you are just the man I need, replied Askew. I will not stand for cruelty to my animals, but I find most men see it as the only way to tame a wild horse, with stick or whip. Perhaps you have shown me a way it could be done with a gentle hand and kind words.

John ’ s mind was moving as fast as Mr Askew ’ s horses in a race. He did not believe in using force to teach animals either, and he knew he could make a horse do anything it was asked to do, simply by a touch of the hand and a few whispered words. But was this offer too good to be true? What did he know of this man? On the other hand, he had made no plans and was all set to seek work in Brisbane. If he couldn ’ t find employment straight away he would be eating into the small amount of money that he and James had shared equally between them.

I will pay you well, and provide a comfortable bed and ample food, said Mr Askew.

A phrase he had heard somewhere popped into John ’ s mind, though he couldn ’ t remember where he had heard it. ‘ In for a penny, in for a pound ’ . The words seemed to fit the situation perfectly. He had nothing to lose, and if it all went wrong, well, he could just move on.

I ’ ll do it, sir, said John. I ’ ll give it a good go.

Well done, my man, replied Askew, well done indeed. My goodness, we are going to be famous when we win every race we enter!

There was no room to stand up and shake hands on the deal, but Kirby Askew reached across the table and clapped John on the shoulder, leaving porridge marks all over John ’ s jacket due to the sticky spoon he had failed to put down first.

Finish your breakfast, man, while I tell you a little about Askew Downs. Then I must summon that young rascal who calls himself a stable lad and give him his notice, I suppose, said Askew.

Can I suggest you could give him a chance to learn? answered John. He did something through lack of knowing what ’ s right, and I have a feeling he would quickly learn with the correct instruction.

As I said last night, it appears you have a kindness in you for man and beast, replied Mr Askew, with a smile. Alright, I ’ ll keep the boy on, but it will be up to you to teach him your ways.

Pouring another cup of tea, Askew proceeded to tell John that the property named after him lay in rolling hills with a homestead beside a river which sometimes dried up in the long hot summer. To John ’ s utter amazement, Askew described a grand estate indeed. The design of the house and courtyard for stabling was based on that of a famous English palace. Askew assured John that he would be given his own room above the stables with food provided with the other men each day. It was a lot for John to take in, but he could not believe his good fortune.

He just had to remind himself to take care. What would Kirby Askew think of a man who was using a false name in order to evade prison? He doubted if he would keep his job if the nature of his deception was ever discovered.

2. Askew Downs

17 years later,

October 1873, Port of Brisbane.

J ohn Douglass looked up as the barmaid went to replace his now empty jug of ale with a full one. Another? she asked, putting the jug down without waiting for a reply.

May as well, replied John in a distracted way. As he tipped some of the contents of the overflowing jug into his tankard he wondered what had made him remember the details of his crossing of the Tasman Sea all those years ago. Perhaps it was the sight of all these ships coming and going in the busy port. He could see twenty or so vessels alongside and many more out in the bay on their way in on the high tide. One of those had sailed from New Zealand and would be carrying the Lawtons. It would be at least another hour before it docked and the family disembarked with all their baggage. He may as well enjoy the wait with another jug of decent ale. Perhaps he would order himself lunch. After all, it had been a long time since he broke his fast.

Clicking his fingers to attract the girl back to his table, he requested a meat pie with extra gravy and settled back into his high-backed leather chair. Despite there being more people about than he remembered from his last visit, he had managed to avail himself of a comfortable seat in the window of the dockside tavern. It gave him a good view of all the comings and goings, with little chance of being disturbed by his fellow drinkers. These days, life rarely offered a chance to be alone, to sit in silence, and John was enjoying himself immensely. With not much else to do for a while, he let his mind wander back in time again.

The circumstances which led him to be offered a position at Askew Downs had been a turning point in his life. Over the next few years he rose through the ranks to become one of Kirby Askew ’ s senior racing trainers, with a string of winning horses who thrived under his gentle methods. He was well paid, had a comfortable cottage to live in on the estate and even journeyed to Melbourne for the Cup on several occasions.

There had been but one ‘ fly in the ointment ’ , in the form of Kirby Askew ’ s partner in business, Frank Simpson. A man who presumed to use the whip and spurs to rule his mount, rather than any form of kindness and John found himself at odds with Simpson at every turn. On social occasions, where John was forced to be in the company of the man he grew to hate, the only blessing was the presence of Simpson ’ s wife. Eunice Simpson was tall, elegant and softly spoken and John was in awe of her physical beauty. Where Frank Simpson went through life like a shire horse stamping his wide hooves into the ground, Eunice trod gently on the earth like a fine-boned mare. John chuckled to himself at such a comparison as he took the first mouthful of an excellent steak and kidney pie.

Many were the conflicts between him and Frank Simpson over those first few months, and many were the times when Simpson took the opportunity to put John down or to steal his glory. John preferred not to think of those times in detail. However, life has a habit of working things out if one is patient enough to wait. John could not bring himself to mourn the untimely death of Mr Frank Simpson when a horse took exception to a fierce dig of Simpson ’ s spurs into his flank, rising up and depositing the man headfirst on the ground. A sharp rock knocked him into a coma from which he never awoke.

While John had no time for the man, he felt nothing but sympathy for the widowed Eunice Simpson, especially as her daughter Evie was no more than a young girl at the time, and another baby was on the way. Kirby Askew positively encouraged their growing friendship, so it was not long before John stepped into the breach left by Eunice ’ s husband, taking up the reins from Frank both at work and in the home. Enough time had passed by then for John to tell Kirby and Eunice his real name. The real James Mackenzie would no doubt be at home with his wife by now, so there was little danger of the two men being thrown back into jail. Anyway, he had no intention of committing a further crime by using the wrong name at his wedding, so he had little choice but to explain the full circumstances of his exchange of identity with James Mackenzie. From that day forward he used the name he had been born with, Eunice became Mrs Douglass and Evie came to know John Douglass as her father. When the new baby arrived, John was thrilled when Eunice agreed to naming him James in recognition of his cellmate.

James Douglass may have been his given name but he was always known as Jimmy. He was now nearly sixteen years old and working as a junior clerk in the Ipswich bank. Two children followed after that, a boy, Chas and a precious daughter, Leah. John was so very proud of every member of his family, whether they were of his blood, or not.

John ’ s initial impression of Kirby Askew as a fearsome boss proved only to be true in the case of those who shirked their duties or failed to pull their weight in the stables. Over the years the two men became good friends, sharing decisions as well as the glory of winning and the ignominy of defeat. When Kirby Askew ’ s health deteriorated causing him to take to his bed, John became his eyes and ears, reporting each day on things to do with the business, right up to the very end. Kirby ’ s eventual death affected John more than he could ever say. His good friend and mentor was a father figure to John, so very different from the cruel, sadistic man who was his true father, the man who had caused him to leave England in the first place. He barely ever thought about his true parents, but he wondered now if either of them were still alive. If so, did they ever think of the son they once had? He doubted his father was ever sober enough to think of anything much, but his mother was a different matter. He remembered her with fondness, the only good memory from a miserable childhood.

The estate of Askew Downs had naturally passed to the eldest son, Julian Askew, but Kirby had made provision for John to be gifted a two hundred acre slice of his land upon which he was able to set himself up as a trainer in his own right. Along with two good stallions for stud and three brood mares, John had the start he needed. Julian Askew was by no means as committed to the business as his father and had chosen to concentrate on cattle raising rather than horse breeding. This left John to take over the reins as one of the country ’ s leading trainers in the racing business.

Cool View stud had been built beside the river which crossed the long thin strip of land. Eunice insisted that the homestead be built in the Queenslander style with a verandah that ran all around the house enabling the family and guests to avoid the sun and escape the wind whatever direction it chose to come from. He could not imagine living anywhere else now. It made the perfect family home, with plenty of room for entertaining and for guests to stay. He even had a study