Amber (25 page)

Flora’s room was very similar to her own, though it was perhaps a little smaller and the window faced the hills behind Auckland instead of the harbour. The bed was very neatly made, but there were no personal items on the chest of drawers or the small bedside cabinet, as would be expected of someone who had lived in the same room for the past two years. There was also no sign of Bodie.

‘Bodie,’ Kitty whispered, crouching to peer beneath the bed. ‘Bodie, here puss. Where are you?’

Kitty’s heart sank as a scuffling sound came from Flora’s wardrobe. She opened the door and there in one corner was Bodie, lying comfortably across a pair of beautiful red satin button boots with rather high heels and lace around the tops. Next to them sat another pair, but in black. Kitty frowned, thinking how inappropriate they would be for Auckland’s rough and muddy streets.

‘Get out of there,’ she said to Bodie tersely, but Bodie didn’t move, apparently happy where she was.

Kitty lifted her out, in the process knocking one of Flora’s dresses off its hanger.

She swore again and carried Bodie back across the landing, shut her inside her bedroom, then returned to Flora’s. She eyed the dress where it had fallen in a crumpled heap at the bottom of the wardrobe. It was of an ordinary style in a rather dull brown wool, and Kitty recognised it as one of the dresses Flora wore out to work. She gathered it up, slipped it back on the hanger and hung it in front of Flora’s other dresses.

Flora’s other dresses. Kitty frowned again. One was a good dress, a nice bottle green sateen and obviously one that Flora saved for best, but the two hanging behind it were very beautiful indeed—far too beautiful for a girl who worked for a watchmaker. They were in different colours but of the same style and made of very good quality and expensive satin, heavily embellished with glittering beads. One was red and the other was black, presumably to match the boots lined up beneath them. By moving Flora’s heavy winter cape only slightly, she saw that at the other end of the wardrobe were several very full petticoats, also of good quality and adorned with yards and yards of stunning lace.

Kitty reached in and withdrew the red dress, holding it against her body. The waist was tiny, though Flora might well have had a small waist under the ill-fitting clothes she wore during the day; the sleeves were almost non-existent and the bodice heavily boned in the manner of a corset. But it was the neckline that startled Kitty. It was so low that if she were to try it on without her chemise, she was sure the fabric would only just cover her nipples. Perhaps Flora wore it with a fichu? To wear such a daring gown in public without one would have been scandalous. The black dress had the same very low neckline, which was extremely unusual on a mourning gown. But surely no self-respecting grieving woman would wear such an outfit?
Really, the only women Kitty had ever seen wearing clothes like this had been…

Slowly, Kitty returned the red dress to the wardrobe. Flora? Surely not? What a ridiculous notion. Flora was quite unprepossessing, even if she was somewhat candid in her manner, and anyway she was busy all day cleaning and assembling the insides of watches. Wasn’t she?

That evening at dinner, Kitty asked Flora how her day at work had been.

‘Oh, you know, the same as it always is,’ Flora replied, cutting into her rather tough pork chop.

‘I’ve always wondered what it would be like to work for a watch maker,’ Kitty said, then winced inwardly as she realised how inane she sounded.

Hattie looked at her, her fork halfway to her mouth. ‘Have you? How odd.’

‘Yes, I suppose it is,’ Kitty mumbled, staring at her plate and cursing herself for being so nosy.

‘Well, if you’re that interested, why don’t you call in one day this week and I’ll show you what I do,’ Flora suggested. ‘I work in Queen Street.’

Kitty felt deflated…until it occurred to her that Flora might only work for the watchmaker during the
day
.

‘Are you going to your Bible studies class tonight, Miss Langford?’ Mrs Fleming asked.

‘Yes,’ Flora replied after she had swallowed her mouthful. She took her glasses off and rubbed the bridge of her nose where they had rested. ‘Would anyone like a glass of water?’

‘Actually, the well is rather muddy at the moment,’ Mrs Fleming said. ‘I’d suggest a pot of strong tea. There’s milk: I went to the dairy today.’

Flora pushed back her chair and crossed to the hearth to put the kettle over the fire. While her back was turned, Kitty
tried on her spectacles. She looked down at her own hands then around the kitchen, noting that everything looked exactly the same as without the lenses.

She jumped when Flora remarked, ‘They’re not very powerful.’

Embarrassed, Kitty took the spectacles off, sure that they didn’t have prescription glass in them at all. ‘I’ve been wondering about getting a pair,’ she said lamely.

‘You wonder about a lot of things, don’t you?’ Flora observed.

‘Tut tut, Miss Langford,’ Mrs Fleming said. ‘I’m sure Mrs Farrell is only curious.’

‘I need spectacles, I’m sure I do,’ Hattie said brightly. ‘I gave a gentleman aniseed balls today instead of blackballs. Quite silly of me. Aniseed balls are brown, you see, and blackballs are, well, black.’

‘What is this Bible studies class?’ Kitty asked.

‘It’s a night class that’s run by the Church Missionary Society,’ Mrs Fleming replied. ‘Miss Langford attends two nights a week as regular as clockwork, don’t you? Tuesdays and Thursdays.’

Flora, who had sat down again, nodded.

‘Where is it held?’ Kitty asked.

‘Oh, in town,’ Flora replied vaguely.

‘Why, are you interested in attending yourself?’ Mrs Fleming asked Kitty hopefully. She approved wholeheartedly of religious instruction.

‘Well, not really,’ Kitty said. ‘I’m not sure I’ll be in Auckland long enough.’

Hattie asked, ‘Was that you sneezing before, Flora? In your room? I could hear you from downstairs.’

‘Yes, it was,’ Flora said, giving Kitty a long, accusing look.

‘I know you don’t wish to be parted from your husband
any longer than you have to be, Mrs Farrell,’ Mrs Fleming said sympathetically, ‘but don’t discount the possibility that you may be in Auckland for some time. I hear that more of Governor FitzRoy’s reinforcements from Australia are due here in a fortnight. Apparently they are to join the troops already at the barracks, then sail north to the Bay of Islands. After that, well, it could be some time until the rebel Maoris are subdued, and if so, you should have ample opportunity for pursuing your spiritual advancement. On the other hand, of course, the rebels might scatter like a herd of panicked sheep, faced with the might of Her Majesty’s troops.’

Kitty doubted it. ‘I have no real need for spiritual advancement, Mrs Fleming. I was a missionary myself, at Paihia five or six years ago. I came out with my aunt and uncle. Uncle George was a minister at Paihia before he died.’

Mrs Fleming looked thoughtful. ‘What was your maiden name, Mrs Farrell?’

‘Carlisle.’

‘No, I’m sure that wasn’t it,’ Mrs Fleming said, almost to herself. ‘What was your uncle’s name?’

‘Kelleher.’

‘Yes!’ Mrs Fleming exclaimed. ‘I remember now. Reverend George Kelleher. Wasn’t there some sort of scandal?’ Then she stopped. ‘Oh, I do beg your pardon, dear.’

Kitty said nothing.

But Mrs Fleming apparently could not let it lie. ‘There was…an incident, though, wasn’t there? I’m sure I remember something.’

‘My uncle did disappear, perhaps that’s what you were thinking of,’ Kitty suggested.

‘Yes, but wasn’t there something to do with a housegirl? A Maori housegirl?’ Mrs Fleming insisted.

Kitty blinked very slowly as she regarded her landlady. ‘Not
to my knowledge, Mrs Fleming. And I was there. My uncle simply, and tragically, disappeared on the eve of the signing of the treaty. It has since transpired that he became lost in the bush and died. I myself left very soon after that, for Australia.’

‘To continue your work as a missionary?’

‘To continue providing care and support to those in need, yes,’ Kitty replied, recalling the long months she had spent looking after Wai and then baby Tahi. ‘And then of course I married my husband.’

Mrs Fleming appeared confused, clearly unable, or unwilling, to equate Kitty’s version of the story with the much more interesting one she had heard, but to her credit she said, ‘Oh, well. I suppose these things often do get distorted in the telling.’

‘Yes, I expect they do,’ Kitty agreed.

Mrs Fleming patted her hand. ‘But if you
are
to be staying at Auckland for any length of time, perhaps you could share some of your past experiences as a missionary with the Bible studies class. That’s a wonderful idea, isn’t it, Miss Langford?’

Kitty noticed that Flora looked rather cagey. ‘Yes,’ Flora said. ‘Wonderful.’

Flora Langford was hiding something, and Kitty knew it.

‘Surely what she gets up to after-hours is her business,’ Simon said somewhat tetchily as he stirred sugar into his tea.

They were in the dining-room of Woods’ Royal Hotel on Princes Street where, Kitty had been assured by Mrs Fleming, Auckland’s ‘fashionable circle’ preferred to dine. Simon hadn’t wanted to come, but Kitty, dispirited and missing Rian dreadfully, had insisted on having a treat. Also, her courses had started that morning, so that, as always, she was feeling flat and sharply disappointed.

‘Yes, but a
prostitute
, Simon! Don’t you find that fascinating?’

‘No, I don’t, and neither should you. I think you’re being rather puerile about it, actually. And you don’t even know if she is a prostitute. There might be some perfectly reasonable explanation for why she has risqué dresses in her wardrobe and wears spectacles with ordinary glass in them.’

‘Such as?’ Kitty demanded.

‘Well, I don’t know.’

‘And she goes out at night twice a week without fail, apparently.’

‘Has she said where she goes?’

‘Yes, to a Bible studies class! Ha!’

‘Well, there you go, then,’ Simon reasoned. ‘She’s just very devout.’

‘With those gowns hanging in her wardrobe?’ Kitty countered. ‘And anyway, who goes to Bible studies classes twice a week?’

‘I do,’ Simon replied, reaching for a dainty ham and mustard sandwich. ‘I teach them at Waimate, remember? And so did you when you were at Paihia.’

Kitty had forgotten that. ‘Well, I don’t believe her.’

Simon sighed. ‘Do you not like this Flora Langford, Kitty? Is that what the problem is?’

‘No, actually I do like her. Quite a lot.’

‘Then why can’t you just let her go about her business?’ He made a pained face. ‘God, this mustard’s potent.’

‘Because it’s a
mystery
, Simon, and I want to get to the bottom of it.’ Kitty’s eyes lit up. ‘I know! Let’s follow her the next time she goes out!’

Simon laid his sandwich on his plate, carefully blotted his mouth with his napkin, leaned towards Kitty and said very firmly, ‘No. Let’s not.’

Kitty folded her arms and scowled, her afternoon tea untouched in front of her. After a minute she said, ‘I still haven’t received my invitation to the evacuees’ ball.’

‘Could that perhaps be because there isn’t going to be one?’ Simon suggested.

Kitty frowned. ‘Isn’t there? How do you know that?’

‘I don’t, but how do you know there
is?
’

‘Because Mr Donaven said there was.’

‘Mr Donaven said that there was talk, and only talk, of FitzRoy
considering
it,’ Simon said patiently, ‘not that he was on the verge of ordering invitations to be printed.’

He was wearing his new brown tweed suit, which Mr Donaven had tailored for him beautifully but which Simon, true to form, was managing to make look like an old potato sack.

‘Why didn’t you wear that shirt I gave you for Christmas with your nice new suit?’ Kitty complained. ‘It would look so much smarter than that scruffy old thing you’ve got on. And sit up straight, you’ll spill food all down your front.’

Simon drew in a deep breath and let it out again very slowly. Then he said, ‘You know, Kitty, not a day has gone by during this past week that I haven’t thanked God that we never did actually marry.’

Kitty glared at him. ‘Well, that’s a lovely thing to say!’ She opened her napkin, flapped it vigorously and laid it across her lap. ‘Why are you being so difficult, Simon? We’re supposed to be having a nice afternoon out.’

Simon nearly choked. ‘Why am
I
being difficult? Kitty, you’ve done nothing but bicker and criticise since I came by to collect you! It’s
you
who is being difficult!’

And then he felt a complete heel because her face fell and she fumbled in her reticule for her handkerchief, but not before a fat tear had escaped and trickled down her cheek. She was missing Rian terribly, and the crew, and probably the
Katipo
herself, and here he was chiding her for it when he should have been lending her a shoulder to cry on.

He reached across the table and took her hand. ‘I’m sorry,
Kitty, I really am. I know how much you miss Rian. Don’t worry, you’ll see him soon, I’m sure of it.’

But Kitty only cried harder, and people were starting to look.

‘Look,’ Simon said, desperate now and knowing he would no doubt deeply regret what he was about to say. ‘Tell me what you want, and we’ll do it, all right? Anything, so long as it cheers you up.’

‘Here she comes,’ Kitty said breathlessly, and ducked back into the shadows of the building two doors down from Mrs Fleming’s house.

It was almost dark. Kitty had said she was going out for the evening to visit an acquaintance, but she and Simon had been waiting here for half an hour now for Flora to leave for her class. The temperature had cooled over the past few days, accompanied by a brisk wind that gathered up drying leaves and spun them around in miniature whirlpools, and Kitty was wishing she had packed her cape rather than just her shawl. Simon, leaning against the wall with his hands in his pockets and a resigned expression on his face, only grunted.

‘Get back!’ Kitty whispered, and they moved further into the shadows as Flora walked quickly past, carrying a portmanteau and with her yellow hair hidden beneath a bonnet.