CHAPTER ONE

Early October 1913

Perth, Western Australia.

The stove for heating irons only added to the unbearable stuffiness in the work room at the back of Scott's tailor shop in inner-city Perth. Feeling irritable and stifled by four walls, Emily Scott stood up abruptly, knocking her head on the light above her Singer sewing machine.

"Damn," she muttered, and immediately caught the scowling disapproval of her three brothers. No surprise there! She could barely breathe without their censure. Every day they had an opinion about something, whether it was her attire, the way she spoke, what she ate, or how she styled her hair. It drove her mad. They told her where she could go, or more importantly where she couldn't go, which was just about everywhere. While her father wasn't so critical, he was very strict, so she was forced to tell fibs if she wanted even the smallest amount of freedom, after which she suffered pangs of guilt. It made for a truly unhappy life and she was at breaking point.

Whenever one of her three brothers criticized her, be it verbally or just a 'look', Emily would have flashbacks to her childhood. She was eight years old when her mother suddenly died. Confused and bewildered, she didn't understand what tuberculosis meant or that she would never see her mother again.

Her father's brother, Freddy, moved into the house to help, adding to the dominant male element. No one knew how to deal with a little girl, so Emily was treated like one of the boys. It was easier that way. She felt almost fortunate as she had the same freedom as her brothers. She could climb trees, fish for tadpoles and get filthy, ride her bike, and even play rough and tumble on the lawn with her brothers and their friends. With money hard to come by, she wore some of the boys' hand-me-down clothes around the house and that gave her the liberty she would never have had in frilly dresses. But all of that changed a week before her fifteenth birthday.

Emily was alone in the house on a public holiday and decided to take advantage of the rare peace and quiet and indulge in a long soak in the bathtub. It wasn't until she got out that she realised she'd left her robe in her bedroom. As she was the only one in the house it wasn't a drama. She was crossing the hall to her room, with just a towel loosely wrapped around her, when suddenly the front door burst open. Startled and panicked, she stumbled and caught her toe under the rug and fell flat on her back with the towel open. Reeling in shock and red-faced, she scrambled to cover her nakedness, but her stunned brothers had seen more than enough to realise she was a fully-developed young woman.

The three boys remained in shock for days.

Uncle Freddy noticed that the boys were suddenly treating Emily like she had an infectious disease and wanted to know why. When he didn't get anywhere questioning them, he confronted Emily.

At first Emily was embarrassed to tell him what had happened, but she was closer to her kindly uncle more than anyone in the house, so when he kept questioning her, she confessed.

"Oh," Freddy said. "Now their behaviour makes sense. I'm surprised it took something so dramatic for them to see you have a few extra bits and pieces, but sometimes males need reality to slap them in the face, literally." He pulled one of his funny little faces that always made Emily smile.

"They weren't quite slapped in the face, thankfully, but my extra bits are here to stay, Uncle Freddy, so they'll just have to deal with it," she said.

"After your mother died it was easier to pretend you weren't a girl. I guess they can't do that anymore and they're not sure how to handle it. You'll just have to be patient," Freddy suggested.

Emily hoped it would sort itself out, but their eventual reaction was to become over-protective to the point of suffocating her.

Seven years later, nothing had changed.

Emily went to the back door of the shop and flung it open in the hope of a breath of air. She knew it was unseasonably warm outside but she was still surprised to be blasted with gusts of hot wind.

"Close the door, Emily," brother Joe insisted. "Dust is blowing in."

"But it's so stuffy," Emily complained. "I just want some air movement."

"Hot air won't make you feel any better," Joe retaliated.

Emily shut the door, but she wanted to scream, you don't have to wear corsets and petticoats. Instead she mumbled under her breath, only to receive another look.

She went back to her machine and laboured over the sleeves of a lounge coat, while perspiration trickled down the back of her neck, dampening her corset cover and petticoats. Her small feet, ensconced in sensible laced-up shoes with round toes and a low wedge heel, peddled the Singer sewing machine, while her right hand flew to the wheel, to stop and start with expert efficiency and speed.

Dark cotton threads looked like a swarm of millipedes' on the floor around Emily's sewing table. Behind her, Jimmy, her eldest brother, was pinning patterns on bolts of quality cloth on an enormous table, while Joe, her second eldest brother, was cutting. Charlie, just eighteen months older than Emily and the youngest of the boys, had the unenviable job of using the hot irons to press cuffs and creases into trousers, but like his brothers and their father, he could also sew expertly on one of the other sewing machines.

In the background, Emily could hear her father's voice as he served a client on the other side of the curtain that separated the shop front from the workroom. She recognized Winston McMillan's voice. A regular customer, he was an avid sailor and a well-known identity in Perth's high society boating circles. He was ordering a new sports blazer in navy-blue stripe with patch pockets and brass buttons. William Scott had no need to take his measurements as they were recorded down to the finest detail.

"I'm afraid there'll be a month wait before your jacket will be ready, Mr. McMillan," Emily heard her father tell Winston apologetically. "We're very busy because our work is of the highest quality, as you are well aware."

"As long as it's ready for the Swan River Regatta in five weeks," Winston replied in a tone that conveyed he did not want to be disappointed.

"I know all about it. I've taken several orders for new blazers for the regatta," William disclosed. "And they will be ready. You have no need to worry about that."

Hearing this, Emily groaned. While her brothers and her father thrived on more orders for suits and blazers, she saw herself as someone toiling in a 'sweat house'. She didn't enjoy the work; sewing men's clothes was just something she had to do, which only added to the feeling of being trapped in a life she didn't want.

Emily's tummy rumbled and she glanced at the clock on the wall above the door. It was noon. Right on time she heard her Uncle Freddy lean his bicycle on the wall outside. He literally sashayed through the door carrying a wicker basket of sandwiches and cake.

"Hello, my darlings!" No matter his mood, Freddy's melodramatic greetings were always worthy of a theatrical performance. Wearing a flamboyant candy stripped, silk waist coat over a white shirt with a high collar, bow tie, breeches, and knee-length stockings; he was a true eccentric with a heart of pure gold. No one could forget that he'd sacrificed his life and any chance of personal happiness to help his brother raise his family. Freddy often referred to himself jokingly as Aunty Freddy, and indeed he'd been just like a lovable aunt. He did his best to dispense sound advice and cook nourishing meals, and he ran the house quite efficiently, but Emily still missed having a mother in her life and the company of other women.

Emily immediately noticed one side of his handlebar moustache had drooped when it was usually as stiff as a week old corpse. Had she not been feeling as trapped as a canary in a cage, she might've smiled. She noticed Jimmy couldn't help himself.

"What's for lunch, Uncle Freddy?" Charlie asked enthusiastically, trying to stifle a smirk.

"Corned-beef sandwiches with my divine tomato relish," Freddy replied proudly. "I'm off to my tobacconist to buy a new humidor," he said, heading for the front of the store so that he could consult William about the dinner menu.

"Only Uncle Freddy would need a new humidor," Charlie whispered with a smile.

"Wait till he catches his reflection in a mirror," Joe said and then they heard a shriek from the shop front and knew he'd done just that.

"I'm going out for an hour," Emily said as she stood up and straightened her aching back, waiting in dread for the inevitable reaction. She'd been nervous for hours just thinking about this moment.

"Where are you going?" Joe asked, glaring at her.

"To the shops," Emily replied, biting down the anger she felt at his tone.

"You must eat lunch," he said with insistence.

"I'll get something while I'm out."

"Freddy can get what you need at the shops," Jimmy jumped to say.

"Uncle Freddy has enough to do," Emily insisted with a racing heart.

"Then you could go with him. He won't mind. He's only going to the tobacconist," he said.

"I don't need Uncle Freddy holding my hand," Emily said in frustration. She felt like screaming, but held it in.

"You shouldn't be wandering the streets alone, Emily," Joe...