Amber (32 page)

Annabel clamped her mouth shut.

Kitty handed Simon a bridle. ‘The first thing you need to do is catch the horse.’

Simon looked first at the bridle, then rather more doubtfully at the animals in the paddock, then said, ‘Why don’t you do it? Otherwise we could be here all day.’

Kitty withdrew two carrots from the pocket of her dress. She was wearing her oldest one today, over her recently purchased men’s trousers, to preserve her modesty when she climbed into the saddle. When they were back up north she would do away with the dress altogether, but here in Auckland she thought it prudent not to make too much of a spectacle of herself.

Holding out a carrot, Kitty walked up to the grey, patted her nose while she munched, and then slipped on the bridle. When
she led the horse back to the fence, the bay placidly followed.

Kitty showed Simon how to correctly fit a bridle and a saddle. ‘You need to make sure that the bit is properly between the horse’s teeth. If it isn’t, you won’t have any control when you pull on the reins because the horse won’t feel it. And some horses will hold their breath while you’re fastening the girth. Then, when you mount, the saddle will slip off. A well-placed knee in the belly will fix that.’

‘Isn’t that a bit cruel?’

‘Well, I suppose you could just ask the horse to breathe out, but I’ve never had much luck with that method,’ Kitty said, which made Mr Leach snort with amusement.

When they were ready, Kitty explained to Simon how to mount.

‘Reins gathered in the left hand, holding onto the pommel, left foot in the stirrup iron. You can set your other hand on the pommel, too, but try not to pull on it too hard. Then swing yourself up and take your right leg over the saddle, then put your foot into the stirrup iron on the other side. See?’ she said, showing him how easy it was but noting with some alarm that she wasn’t quite as supple as she had once been.

Simon tried to copy her, but the second he put any weight at all on the stirrup, the bay walked off, forcing Simon to hop along beside him.

The children on the fence tittered, and Mr Leach busied himself putting a nosebag on his own horse.

‘No,’ Kitty said, ‘gather your reins in tighter. He thinks you’re giving him his head.’

Simon did as he was told and, with a grunt, heaved himself up into the saddle and fumbled around trying to get his right foot into the stirrup. The bay walked off again.

Panicked, Simon cried, ‘How do I stop it?’

Kitty came alongside him and said calmly, ‘Let go of the
pommel, and take hold of the reins again. See, they’re just dangling loose on his neck. Now, pull on them gently.’

Simon did, and the bay came to a halt. Simon grinned and said incredulously, ‘It worked!’ Then his smile slipped as he glanced down. ‘They’re quite a distance off the ground, aren’t they?’

‘Not really,’ Kitty said. ‘You’ll get used to it.’

They walked side by side around the paddock several times, stopping and starting until Simon had gained a little confidence, then Kitty announced that they were going to try trotting.

‘Do you know what posting to the trot is?’ she asked.

Simon looked at her blankly.

‘Posting to the trot is when you deliberately rise and fall to the rhythm of the horse’s trot. Otherwise it can be very uncomfortable. Try trotting and see.’ Kitty urged her horse to trot, and the bay followed, Simon hanging on for grim death as he bounced all over the place in the saddle.

Kitty posted beside him with effortless elegance. ‘No, like this, see? Grip with your knees and push yourself up and down until it feels smooth. You’ll know when you get it right.’

And suddenly, Simon did get it right. A wide smile spread across his face as he found the rhythm, and the pressure on his testicles eased.

The bay, no doubt also relieved to no longer have a large sack of potatoes crashing around on his back, sped up, his head high and his mane flying. Unfortunately, his tail was also up and, just as Simon and Kitty approached the audience on the fence, the bay emitted a series of farts like musket shots, then proceeded to defecate, leaving a trail of dung in a neat line behind him.

The children could hardly contain themselves, and Kitty noticed that Joshua Leach, too, was having a thoroughly good laugh. Worse, however, was to come. Halfway around the paddock the bay slowed, then stopped and straddled his legs. A
moment later his long penis emerged and he started to release a powerful stream of urine.

Oh dear, Kitty thought, biting her lip. ‘Simon?’

‘What?’ Simon looked around. ‘What the hell’s he doing?’

‘He’s relieving himself. Can you lean forward to take the weight off his kidneys?’

Simon looked at her suspiciously, as though suspecting her of trying to make him look even sillier than he felt.

‘It’s true,’ Kitty said. ‘It’s not good for them.’

Self-consciously, Simon rose in the stirrups and leaned forward over the horse’s neck, embarrassingly aware that his backside was now in the air. Hearing shrieks of hysterical laughter from the other side of the paddock, he knew he must look a complete fool. Beneath him he could hear and smell the horse’s pungent urine as it splattered onto the grass.

‘He’ll take ages,’ Kitty warned.

But eventually the bay finished and decided to walk on, leaving an enormous puddle soaking into the ground behind him and Simon wondering what else was in his repertoire.

Wryly, he said, ‘He’s not shy, is he?’

Kitty grinned. They trotted again until Simon was beginning to feel he was mastering the gait, then Kitty suggested they try a canter.

‘I don’t think I’m ready for that,’ Simon said quickly.

‘Yes, you are. Urge him forward, go on.’

With some misgiving Simon squeezed with his knees, and the bay broke into a smooth canter.

Simon looked happily surprised. ‘This is a lot easier than trotting, isn’t it?’

Thrilled to be allowed to go faster than a trot, the bay gave a tiny buck, which didn’t unseat Simon but did put him slightly off balance. Gradually, he began to slide sideways out of the saddle. Clinging desperately to the horse’s mane he looked across to
Kitty, cantering beside him as though, he thought sourly, she had been born on a horse.

‘Are you going to fall?’ she called calmly.

He nodded vigorously.

‘Then take your feet out of the stirrups, and roll when you hit the ground.’

Slowly, and with rather majestic inevitability, Simon slid further and further to one side and finally let go, rolling as instructed and keeping his head and hands tucked in so they wouldn’t be struck by the bay’s hooves. Kitty slowed and wheeled back to where Simon sat dejectedly in the grass, elbows on his knees.

‘Are you hurt?’

‘Only my pride.’

‘Well, that’s not so bad then, is it? Come on, get back on.’

But Simon had decided he’d had enough for one day. Hat in his hands, he trudged back to the fence in search of some sympathy from Joshua Leach.

Kitty rode for a little longer, then let each of the children sit on the saddle in front of her as she cantered slowly around the paddock. Amber squealed with excitement, which caused the grey to toss her head and flick her ears back and forth in alarm, but the child had a natural rhythm, and soon wasn’t even bothering to hang on, relaxing into the horse’s gait and allowing it to hold her in the saddle.

‘Did you see that?’ Kitty said proudly when she came to a halt and she and Amber had dismounted. ‘I think she’s going to be a natural equestrienne.’

‘Which is more than I can say for myself,’ Simon muttered, rubbing his aching thighs.

Kitty booked a passage on a barque named the
Irish Bride
which was due to sail up to the Bay of Islands in six days’ time. They
could have departed Auckland sooner, but the
Bride
was the only ship currently at anchor in the Waitemata fitted to transport large livestock, and even then Kitty had to bribe the captain because he was convinced the horses would be more trouble than their fare was worth.

But there was plenty to do while they waited. Simon had riding lessons every day, even though he insisted that they were crippling him and prematurely turning him into an old man. By the time they were ready to go, however, he was reasonably confident in the saddle and had fallen off only twice more.

There were also supplies to buy, the sorts of things Kitty knew would be difficult to obtain at Paihia and Pukera because of the fighting. It was now getting on for the middle of May, and the
Auckland Times
had reported at length on Lieutenant-Colonel Hulme’s major victory against Heke’s force of two hundred at Puketutu on 8 May. Hulme had attacked the incompletely built pa with a storming party of more than two hundred soldiers and a party of pro-government Maoris, known as kupapa, including Tamati Waka Nene’s people, only to find his troops being attacked from the rear by a number of Kawiti’s men who had coincidentally arrived on the scene. The struggle had been bitter and there had been losses on both sides, but eventually Heke had retreated from his pa and Hulme had chosen to withdraw, leaving at least two hundred dead and wounded Maoris in his wake.

Having lived among Maoris for some time, both Kitty and Simon had their doubts about the veracity of the
Times
’s reports. Simon insisted that Heke, being the cunning strategist that he was, would most certainly have co-ordinated with Kawiti, whose arrival at Puketutu during the battle would not have been a matter of chance. And Kitty, who had already seen how estimates of numbers killed and wounded had been exaggerated in the press after Kororareka, simply did not believe that Heke had lost two
hundred men. They were not the only observers to doubt that the Maoris had been so roundly and comprehensively beaten; while some in Auckland celebrated the end of the rebellion, there were louder mutters about the war having only just begun. Kitty’s resolve to return to the Bay of Islands was only strengthened, and the lack of any further letters from Rian worried her enormously.

While waiting for the
Irish Bride
to sail, she also paid a visit to Doctor Moffitt to inform him that she had decided to adopt Amber. The doctor had congratulated Kitty on her extremely charitable decision, although he did warn her that raising a wild, abandoned child could well be a very daunting task.

‘And how does your husband view the matter?’ he asked Kitty across his gleaming mahogany desk.

‘Well, my husband is up north at the moment, so unfortunately I haven’t been able to tell him that we now have a daughter.’

The doctor raised his bushy, greying eyebrows. ‘So this is a decision you’ve made independently?’

‘Er, yes.’

‘I see. Well, how do you
think
Mr Farrell will view the matter?’

‘Captain Farrell,’ Kitty corrected.

‘Military?’

‘No, a sea trader.’

Doctor Moffitt regarded Kitty over the top of his spectacles. ‘May I respectfully suggest that some men may not be altogether delighted to discover that their wives have adopted a waif off the streets? And a little half-caste waif at that.’

‘Yes, I know.’ Kitty looked down at her hands folded in her lap. ‘Although I very much doubt that the colour of her skin will bother him. But I will be honest with you, Doctor, I’m not entirely sure how he will feel about it.’

And somehow she ended up telling this man she barely knew
the story of how Rian had lost his first wife and child at sea, and about her fears that the awful tragedy had put him off ever wanting to be a father again.

‘Mmm, it is a very difficult situation, isn’t it?’ the doctor murmured. ‘And is that why you don’t have any children of your own? Assuming that you don’t, of course.’

‘No, we don’t. But, actually, that isn’t the reason. We’ve been married now for five years and our private life is…well, let’s just say that we love each other very much. And I’ve taken no measures to prevent a pregnancy, but nothing at all has happened.’ She paused. ‘I’ve remained barren.’

‘Barren is a very harsh and rather unkind word, Mrs Farrell. May I ask, have you had any medical investigations regarding this state of affairs?’

Kitty considered the doctor’s question, and after a minute answered as honestly as she was able.

‘No, I haven’t—perhaps, I suspect, because I don’t wish to be given bad news.’

‘If you choose, I could perform an examination now,’ Doctor Moffitt suggested gently. ‘I’m not a specialist in matters of the female reproductive system, I confess, but I can probably tell you whether there’s anything obviously amiss.’

Kitty regarded him for a long and thoughtful moment, then started to smile. ‘Thank you, but no, I don’t believe that will be necessary. I have a child now.’

Doctor Moffitt returned her smile. ‘I was hoping you might say something like that. You see, it’s my belief that when some women are unable to bear children, it’s often because God has something else in mind for them. And in your case, Mrs Farrell, He has seen fit to send you this little Maori child. Had you already been a mother, you might not have been in the right frame of mind to consider adopting her. Do you see what I mean?’

Kitty’s smile widened into a grin. ‘Yes. Yes, I do. I hadn’t considered it in that light before.’

Doctor Moffitt moved his pen from one side of his blotter to the other. ‘May I offer you some advice regarding your husband?’

‘You may.’

‘I think it would be best for you to simply introduce the child to Captain Farrell,’ the doctor said, ‘then leave them to get on with it. Men are far more capable of forming bonds with children than many people believe. She is an endearing and, I suspect, rather bright little girl, and if, as you say, your marriage is a strong one, then matters should take care of themselves.’

Kitty inclined her head. ‘Thank you, Doctor Moffitt. That’s very sensible advice and I shall remember it.’

The
Irish Bride
was scheduled to sail at one o’clock and Mrs Fleming and Joshua Leach went down to Commercial Bay to see Kitty, Amber, Simon and Bodie off. Hattie and Flora were already there, having ducked out during their lunch breaks. Bodie, now at least a pound heavier from eating Mrs Fleming’s mice and too much scone dough, made the trip to the waterfront tucked into Simon’s knapsack, her black head poking out of the top. The two horses had been brought down earlier, and were now in a temporary pen on the beach, waiting to be barged out to the ship.