Band of Gold (8 page)

Kitty chose a dress made for her by Rian’s sister, Enya, a dressmaker in Sydney. It wasn’t her most elaborate gown, but its full faille skirts and fitting bodice in soft raspberry complemented her colouring and was not so ostentatious that she would stand out among the other women. Rian hadn’t bothered to dress up, despite Kitty’s exhortations, but had put on a decent jacket and had condescended to shave, and Amber wore her favourite dress, a checked rust and navy
blue taffeta with a high neckline and a full, calf-length skirt. But she had refused to wear the ribbon Kitty had picked out for her hair, ‘inadvertently’ leaving it on the daybed before they’d come out. As a consequence, her hair was already tumbling wildly about her face.

Ropata and Leena, however, had declined to come. Leena was still smarting over Lily Pearce’s unpleasant comments, and was convinced that everyone would point her out as ‘that myall’. Realising that his wife’s pride had been badly bruised, and feeling for her as deeply as if his own mana had been offended, Ropata acquiesced to her request that they not attend.

The Adelphi Theatre, although only a tent, was vast and already filled almost to capacity with people evidently determined to have a good time. In one corner was a rough stage, on which was jammed a musical ensemble consisting of four fiddlers, two penny-whistle players, two men and a woman with
bodhráns
, a concertina player, and two men who sat with
uilleann
pipes across their laps.

Wooden benches formed a perimeter around the sides of the tent; the centre was cleared for dancing. The fact that there wasn’t a bar didn’t seem to be a deterrent, and many had brought alcohol with them. The noise level was already high, and the air above the crowd hazy with pipe smoke.

Rian dodged through the throng and found a place to sit that would accommodate them all. Kitty spotted Patrick and his wife and waved, noting at the same time that there were very few Aborigines in attendance, and not a single Chinese person. Rian withdrew a bottle of whiskey from the sagging pocket of his jacket, eased out the cork and took a healthy swig.

Amused, Kitty warned, ‘I’m not carrying you home tonight.’

‘Ah, there’ll be a spare wheelbarrow somewhere.’

After a few preparatory fiddle squeaks and a wheeze from the concertina, the band launched into an energetic and not quite synchronised rendition of ‘The Daughters of Erin’. Shawls and jackets
were immediately discarded, the crowd surged towards the centre of the tent, and the dance floor became a whirling kaleidoscope of movement and colour. Mick, Gideon and Pierre—reeking of the lavender water he habitually wore for ‘special occasions’—headed determinedly off, on the prowl for partners, leaving Simon, Daniel and Hawk behind.

Observing the great clusters of unpartnered men standing around, Rian muttered, ‘They’ll be lucky.’

Mick, no doubt, would be, Kitty thought—he usually was—and Pierre would probably find someone, too, his exoticism and immense charm overcoming his short, wiry stature. Gideon might initially find it more difficult to convince someone to dance with him, given his spectacular size and alarming appearance, but his huge smile and lovely manners made him more popular with the ladies than might be expected.

Rian nudged Daniel in the ribs and urged, ‘Go on, get out there. But you’d better be quick.’

‘No, I’d prefer to just watch,’ Daniel replied, trying to ignore Rian’s amused look. He stared moodily ahead for a moment, then reached under the bench for his bottle.

Rian shrugged. ‘What about you, Hawk? Happy to be a wallflower?’

Hawk scowled, his brows almost meeting in the middle. ‘I do not dance, Rian. You know that.’

But Kitty, noting his proudly curved mouth, high-bridged nose and the gleaming fall of his black, waist-length hair, suspected it wouldn’t be long before some woman, tipsy with ale, would summon the nerve to ask him onto the floor. And he did dance, just not in this manner. She’d watched him more than once over the years performing the rhythmic, hypnotic and elaborate dances of his people, which required great strength, and he had been beautiful to behold.

‘What about you, Simon?’ she said.

With exaggerated dignity, he replied, ‘I think you are forgetting, Kitty, that I have two left feet.’

Kitty laughed.

Simon added sanctimoniously, ‘Anyway, I note that
you’re
not dancing.’

‘He’s got a point there,
mo ghrá
,’ Rian conceded. He took Kitty’s hand and said in a beseeching voice, ‘Madam, would you care to dance with a lonely old sea captain desperate for the attention of a beautiful and cultured woman?’

Kitty was very surprised—he
must
be in a good mood, as he was almost as reluctant as Hawk when it came to dancing. Accepting with the grace a queen might bestow upon a favoured courtier, which she spoiled by giggling, she followed him onto the dance floor. Glancing back, she saw Amber standing before Daniel, hands determinedly on hips, presumably badgering him into dancing with her. Daniel smiled, put his bottle aside and stood, and Kitty thought, Ah, you’re a good man, Daniel Royce.

The band tore enthusiastically through a range of songs, each one greeted with a loud cheer by the convivial, and increasingly drunk, crowd. Kitty and Rian were bumped mercilessly as dancers hurled themselves around in energetic reels and jigs, polkas and hornpipes, accompanied by much loud stomping and shouting.

Kitty watched, amused, as Mick went from partner to partner, spinning giggling, pink-faced women as far out as they would go and whirling them back in again, ignoring sour looks from husbands and hopeful beaux alike. Gideon had indeed found himself a partner, a tiny woman whose head barely reached his chest and who shrieked with delight every time he lifted her in the air and spun her around. Even Simon was up now, mashing the toes of a middle-aged woman who was politely smiling throughout his shuffling efforts.

Finally, the band, clearly requiring a breather, eased into a version of ‘Carrigfergus’, with which many of the dancers, and the crowds
of men left lining the perimeter of the tent, joined in, bellowing with particular gusto the lines ‘But I’ll sing no more ’til I get a drink, for I’m drunk today, and I’m seldom sober!’

And it was during this interlude in the dancing that heads began to turn like wheat in a gentle breeze towards the tent’s entrance. Kitty, craning her neck, just managed to see that Flora McRae, dressed again in elegant black from head to toe, had arrived accompanied by five or six comely young women. They paused for a moment in the doorway, surveying the crowd, heads held high.

‘That’s Flora,’ Kitty murmured to Rian.

‘The woman in black? And those are her girls?’

‘I presume so. Would you like to meet her?’

‘Yes, I would, actually.’ Rian laid a hand on Kitty’s arm. ‘But not just yet, eh? If I go charging up to her, people might think I’m desperate to, er, secure a business transaction.’

‘Well, you’d have to stand in line,’ Kitty remarked, nodding at the crowd of men already drifting towards the women, their carefully arranged expressions implying that their intentions were merely to dance with the pretty young things.

She led Rian off the dance floor and sank gratefully onto the bench, hot now from her exertions and uncomfortably aware that the fancy boots she hadn’t worn in months were pinching her toes.

Amber, strands of hair sticking sweatily to her face, pointed. ‘There’s Flora over there, Ma. Can you see her?’

‘Yes, we saw her come in.’

Amber waved energetically. ‘Look, she’s seen us.’

Flora approached, weaving her way between couples and small groups who had begun dancing again now that the tempo of the music had increased, and sat down beside Kitty.

‘Good evening, Kitty. I trust you’re enjoying yourself? Good evening, Mr Bullock,’ she added to Simon, then nodded politely at Daniel.

Simon inclined his head. ‘Good evening to you, Miss Langford. It’s a pleasure to see you again.’

‘Mrs McRae,’ Kitty reminded him.

‘Oh, of course, I beg your pardon.’

Flora shifted her gaze to Rian, where it lingered for some time. ‘And this, Kitty, must be your captain?’

Kitty caught Rian’s eye and smiled. ‘Yes. This is my husband, Captain Rian Farrell. Rian, this is Mrs Flora McRae.’

Rian reached across Kitty and briefly clasped Flora’s hand. ‘I’ve heard much about you, Mrs McRae.’

‘And I you, Captain,’ Flora replied graciously. ‘I felt it was time that we met. I don’t normally attend these public affairs—my girls are perfectly capable of making their own, shall we say, arrangements—however, I did tonight in the hope that you would both be here.’ She paused. ‘I felt it would be inappropriate for me to be seen visiting Lilac Cottage. For you, I mean, not me.’

Rian waved away her last comment. ‘Thank you for your consideration, Mrs McRae, but I receive whomever I choose at my own hearth. And so does Kitty. You are welcome to visit Lilac Cottage whenever you like.’

‘Thank you very much,’ Flora replied. Then her mouth made a tiny
moue
of distaste. ‘I suspect we are being observed.’

Kitty followed Flora’s gaze: Lily Pearce had also arrived, and stood near the door watching them with narrowed eyes. Then she turned haughtily away and clicked her fingers, sending her girls out into the crowd.

‘She has them trained like animals,’ Flora remarked. ‘And I am told, I’m afraid, that that is exactly how they sometimes behave, although I’ve never had the misfortune to see it myself.’

‘Animals?’ Rian queried interestedly. ‘Rats? Apes? Dingos?’

Flora looked at him, her pale face impassive. ‘Oh, no. I’m given to understand that dingos are really quite bright. And apes.’

The corners of Rian’s mouth twitched.

‘And on that note,’ Flora said, rising, ‘I have matters to see to, so you must excuse me. Delightful to finally meet you, Captain Farrell. Goodnight, Mr Bullock.’ She bent and whispered in Kitty’s ear, ‘I could arrange something for your quiet friend, if he’s amenable. He’s far from unattractive and I expect none of my girls would consider it a chore.’

Kitty glanced at Daniel. ‘Perhaps you should ask him yourself.’ She was shocked to realise that the faint pang she felt at Flora’s offer was something close to jealously. ‘Actually, there’s—’

Flora eyed her with dreadful perception. She smiled knowingly. ‘Then I take your point. Goodnight, Kitty.’

Her cheeks burning, Kitty watched as she walked away.

Rian took her hand. ‘An interesting woman, your Flora McRae.’ Then he burst into laughter. ‘What on
earth
is he doing?’

Kitty and Rian stared in bemusement as Pierre, some yards away on the dance floor, executed a series of horribly complicated steps around a woman almost weeping with laughter at his antics.

‘That,’ Kitty said slowly, ‘is his version of a hornpipe. I think.’

‘Shall we try our version?’

But as they stood the music changed to a reel, and they were caught up in a group of ten dancers, weaving a lively and complex pattern, and changing partners every few bars.

‘Who’s she dancing with now?’ Rian asked.

Kitty followed his gaze towards Amber, who was laughing and spinning around with a man in a smart blue waistcoat. ‘That’s Mr Searle. He comes into the shop. I think he’s taken a shine to her.’

‘Bit old for her, isn’t he?’

‘Don’t worry, she says he has bad breath.’

Rian caught Kitty around the waist, led her under his arm and turned to face her. She laughed and curtsied and around they went again, swinging in time to the music and ducking between other
couples. Then Kitty let go of Rian’s hands to execute a spin, and when she turned back Lily Pearce, like a great, bright raptor, had swooped on him and steered him away and into the crowd.

Kitty stood absolutely still, her mouth open, feeling sick. Then Daniel appeared at her side, his hand hovering near her shoulder, and she could see he wanted to take hold of her so she wouldn’t look such a fool, but couldn’t decide whether it would be the right thing to do.

‘Did you see that!’ she exclaimed.

‘I’ll cut in, get her away from him,’ he said, looking as offended and embarrassed as Kitty felt.

But Rian was already extricating himself even as Lily, one hand clamped against his back and the other gripping his shoulder, led him deeper into the dancing throng.

‘Let go of me,’ he warned.

‘No.’ Lily laughed. ‘I think this is awfully cosy, don’t you?’

Rian’s eyes narrowed and his voice was taut with anger. ‘Well, I fucking don’t. So get
off me!
’

Lily’s lips parted and she breathed rather than spoke the words, ‘Make me.’

Dangerously close to losing his temper completely, Rian grasped the hand gripping his shoulder, disconnected it and pushed Lily away.

‘I’m not interested, do you understand?’ he growled. ‘I don’t like you and I don’t want you. Keep away from me.’

He turned his back on her, but as he did, he heard her say quite clearly, ‘But I want
you
, Rian Farrell. And I
always
get what I want.’

‘Rian?’

‘Mmm?’

Kitty rested her face against his warm, damp chest, surreptitiously inhaling his lovely masculine smell, the scent that always came off
him after they had made love. ‘I nearly had a heart attack when Lily took you away tonight.’

Rian smoothed her hair with a languid hand. ‘Christ, so did I. I wondered what the bloody hell she was doing.’

Kitty was quiet for a moment. Then, ‘What did you say to her?’

Rian heard the disquiet in his wife’s voice, and it upset him. ‘I told her to leave me alone.’

Kitty took Rian’s hand and held it, then absently twisted the ring he wore, a heavy gold band set with a milky, grey-blue star sapphire cabochon. She’d had it made for him five years ago and he rarely took it off, not even when he was working. ‘In no uncertain terms?’

‘Definitely in no uncertain terms.’

But Rian wasn’t at all convinced that Lily Pearce had received the message. The damn woman was a harpy, and she was causing trouble, and he would have to put a stop to it.

Late October 1854

T
here is a man looking for you, Mrs Farrell,’ Wong Fu said as Kitty passed him the
baguettes
he had requested. He glanced outside at Amber and Bao sitting on the verandah, giggling together and wiping
macaron
crumbs from their mouths. ‘He is giving your name, your husband’s and your daughter’s.’

Kitty swept a stray lock of hair off her face with the back of her wrist. ‘Did he give his own name?’

‘No, I have not spoken with him. I have only been told.’ A pause. ‘But he is a big man and he has dark skin.’

Gideon? But Wong Fu had met Gideon and knew who he was. Then, with a sensation like the warmth of the sun rising on a cold winter morning, Kitty suddenly thought she knew. Her heart thudding with excitement, she asked, ‘Is he alone, do you know?’

‘I was told he has a boy with him.’

It must be! ‘Thank you, Mr Wong! This is wonderful news!’ Kitty
turned to Pierre. ‘Did you hear that?’ She pulled off her apron and tossed it over a chair. ‘I’m just going up the street to see if I can find them. Will you be all right?’

Smiling, Pierre closed the oven door. ‘Course. Just send that girl back in,
oui?
’

Kitty hurried out of the shop. ‘I’m going out, Amber. Can you give Pierre a hand?’

Amber, the last
macaron
halfway to her mouth, said, ‘Where are you going? Can I come?’

‘No, it’s a surprise. But I’ll be back soon.’

Kitty set off up the street, glancing into every shop, and then, finally, she saw them, walking towards her, waving and grinning madly. She picked up her skirts and broke into a run, oblivious to the stares of passers-by.

‘Haunui! You came!’ She threw her arms around him and he swung her around, laughing his big, loud laugh.

‘Hello, my little Pakeha daughter! We have been looking
everywhere
for you, eh, Tahi?’

The boy at Haunui’s side nodded. ‘Hello, Aunt Kitty.’

As always, after she had not seen him for a while, Kitty was amazed at how much Tahi had grown. Fondly, she kissed his cheek. ‘Hello, love. It’s
wonderful
to see you! How are you?’

Tahi shrugged with the characteristic insouciance many boys on the verge of manhood seem to affect, and smiled shyly. ‘All right, thank you, Auntie.’

His straight black hair skimmed his shoulders, and in his light hazel eyes, high cheekbones and defined chin lay echoes of his dead mother Wai’s lovely face: an image that still tugged painfully at Kitty’s heart. At fourteen Tahi was already five foot nine, although his frame did not yet carry the bulk of the muscle he would soon develop. But next to Haunui he still seemed short.

Haunui was in his sixties now, his hair uniformly pewter and his
face etched with lines of age as well as those of his full-face moko. But he was still very fit, his muscles greatly in evidence and his broad back straight. He was Tahi’s grandfather, a revelation that had not come to light until Wai had died giving birth to Tahi. It had been assumed that Wai was the daughter of Haunui’s arrogant and irascible brother Tupehu, a Nga Puhi chief, but in fact she was the result of a long and secret love affair Haunui had had with Tupehu’s wife, Hareta.

When Kitty had been sent with her Aunt Sarah and Uncle George Kelleher to a mission station at Paihia in New Zealand in 1839, Sarah had taken in several Maori house girls, one of whom had been Wai. George, a minister in the Church Missionary Society, had forced himself on Wai before he had mysteriously disappeared, and she had become pregnant. When Wai’s ‘father’ Tupehu discovered this, Kitty and Wai had been forced to flee New Zealand, and Rian had taken them, with Haunui, to Sydney. After Wai had died, Haunui had returned to Paihia with the infant Tahi to raise him among his own people. Kitty saw them whenever the
Katipo
sailed to New Zealand, but that had not been for two years now.

‘How is everyone?’ Haunui asked. ‘Are you filthy rich yet?’

‘No, we are not,’ Kitty replied ruefully, recalling that in her letter to Haunui suggesting that he and Tahi come to Ballarat, she had made much of Rian’s conviction that there was a fortune to be made on the diggings. ‘But the shaft is almost down to the lead now, so we should see something soon. If it’s there,’ she added.

Haunui slipped his arm through Kitty’s, and they began walking. ‘But you have been here almost two months. Has it taken that long to dig down?’

Kitty nodded. ‘Two months is quite quick, actually. And it’s a deep shaft. But a lot of them are now.’

‘And the crew are all here?’

‘Yes, and Pierre’s opened a bakery! Well, it’s my business, I
suppose, but Pierre does most of the baking.’

At mention of the word ‘bakery’, Haunui’s eyes lit up. ‘Good, we are
starving
.’

Which Kitty knew meant that Haunui hadn’t eaten for possibly up to two hours. ‘When did you arrive?’

‘We got to Melbourne ten days ago, but we have been to Bendigo to see some whanau from home trying their luck on the goldfields. Ah, they are filthy rich now, eh, Tahi? They have a nugget as big as this!’ Haunui held his hands apart to illustrate something the shape of a good-sized head of cauliflower. ‘But they said it’s too cold for them in the winter and they miss the sea.’

‘So they’ll be going home soon?’

Haunui shook his big head. ‘They want some more nuggets.’

Kitty laughed. ‘When did you get to Ballarat?’

‘Just after midday. We came on the Cobb & Co. Very hard on your arse, those coaches. Crowded, too,’ Haunui added. ‘But me and Tahi spread out, eh, boy?’

Kitty laughed again, envisioning the other poor travellers cowering in their seats hour after hour, trying not to come into contact with the large, tattooed, fierce-looking Maori man. ‘And the voyage across the Tasman?’

Haunui shrugged. ‘Smelly. Came on a whaling ship to Sydney, then caught another ship down to Melbourne.’

‘And how is everyone at Paihia? How is Aunt Sarah?’

‘Fat and happy.’

Kitty felt pleased; poor Sarah had had such a difficult life, until the mystery of George’s disappearance had finally been solved and she had been free to remarry.

Haunui politely tipped his hat to a pair of passing women, causing them to step smartly away in alarm. Then, at the sight of Amber waiting excitedly on the bakery verandah, her face almost split in two by an enormous smile, he stopped and roared in a voice that echoed
up the street, ‘
There she is—my most beautiful mokopuna!
’

Amber launched herself at him, and allowed him to gather her in a tight embrace.

‘E hine,’ he said in wonder, ‘look at you: you’re almost a woman!’

Amber stole his hat and put it on her own head, where it slipped down over her eyes. ‘Ah, Koro, I am not!’

Kitty felt an immense rush of love for Haunui, her oldest surviving friend from her early days in New Zealand. No matter what path she had chosen to take since then, even if it had seemed foolhardy, he had stood behind her and accepted her decisions, and the people she had gathered close to her. Amber had regarded him as her grandfather since she was four years old. She had been abandoned by her family, and no one had known who her Pakeha father had been, and Haunui’s generous efforts to teach her of her Maori heritage were something for which Kitty was also very grateful to him.

Amber glanced shyly at Tahi. ‘Hello.’

Tahi ducked his head and mumbled something in reply.

Kitty shared an amused glance with Haunui. Both the same age, the children had always competed, ever since Amber had shoved Tahi flat on his back in the sand at Paihia the first time they’d met. But two years ago, when they were twelve, something had changed between them and their easy if argumentative companionship had gone, replaced by awkward silences, stolen glances and blushing faces. It appeared that this phase hadn’t yet passed.

‘Speak up, boy,’ Haunui said. ‘Where are your manners?’

‘Kia ora, Amber,’ Tahi muttered.

Another silence.

‘Well, then. Did you say you were hungry?’ Kitty said. ‘Come inside.’

Pierre was waiting for them with a platter of hot pasties and pies, bread and
macarons
for Haunui’s sweet tooth, and a pot of tea. He and Haunui embraced, the discrepancy in their heights making them an
odd sight, and Pierre solemnly shook Tahi’s hand.

‘It is very good to see you,
mes amis
.
Very
good. You eat something, then we go up to the claim and see Rian,
hein?
I am taking the dinner. Leena be here soon.’

His mouth already full of pasty, Hainui said in surprise, ‘Leena’s here?’

Kitty nodded. ‘She arrived at the beginning of the month. Ropata was absolutely delighted.’

‘And the children?’ Haunui and Leena had met only twice before, but it had been enough to forge the beginnings of a solid friendship.

The bell over the door chimed and several people entered, glancing curiously at the large tattooed man with gravy running down his chin.

Kitty put her apron back on. ‘Yes, the children are here as well, having a lovely time running all over the place. Leena has an Aboriginal woman looking after them when she’s working here, but I suspect they’re running the poor thing ragged.’

Haunui nodded empathetically, having himself had much experience with small, tearaway children.

The bell rang again; Mr Searle came in, smiled, removed his hat and made straight for Amber standing behind the counter. A moment later, Leena arrived.

Slipping off her shawl, she noticed Haunui and Tahi and smiled. ‘Hello! You came!’

Pierre cleared his throat. ‘I do not want to interrupt, but—’ he indicated an enormous steaming pot and a basket of muslin-wrapped bread, ‘the dinner will go cold if we don’t take him now.’

Outside, the dinner and Tahi loaded onto the cart, Pierre and Haunui headed off for the claim. They drove to the far end of the street, heading south along the Main Road.

Haunui waved his hand in front of his face. ‘It stinks here.’

Pierre sniffed the air delicately. ‘Shit?’

‘Ae, shit. But there is something else. Something…dark.’

His brows creasing, Pierre thought for a moment. ‘She is a sour smell?’

‘Ae.’

‘The earth then. That is the smell of the earth.’

‘If it is, then it’s the smell of earth that has been
insulted
. Perhaps too much has been taken from Papatuanuku without enough given back.’

‘Papa-what?’

‘Papatuanuku. The earth mother.’

Pierre
hmmph
ed and flicked the reins across the bullock’s neck. ‘You and your heathen gods.’

Haunui gave Pierre a sideways look. ‘You and
your
heathen gods. And your voodoo magic and your dolls and your snakes!’

Still chuckling, they passed through the Red Hill area until Pierre turned right off the Main Road and onto the track that would take them around the base of the Golden Point Range and towards the Malakoff Lead and Rian’s claim.

Missing very little as the cart jolted along, Haunui asked Pierre why the shafts, and tents indicating shafts, appeared to follow such organic but nevertheless distinct patterns. ‘They go where the underground rivers go,’ Pierre explained.

Haunui looked horrified. ‘There are underground rivers? Will the miners not all drown?’

‘Some have drowned doing the digging,
oui
. And a few they have fallen down shafts coming home when they are pissed. But the rivers they are not’—Pierre groped for the right word—‘they are not
torrents
. They are ancient, and they seep through the rock and the clay. It is where the gold settles, and where the men must dig.’

Haunui nodded, mollified. After the cart had lurched over a particularly deep rut, he said over his shoulder, ‘That kai all right back there?’

Quickly tucking the muslin back over the bread, to which he had
been helping himself, Tahi nodded.

‘You’ve got crumbs on your face, boy,’ Haunui remarked benignly. Turning back to Pierre, he muttered, ‘That boy never stops eating.’

Pierre shrugged. ‘He is a boy. That is what they do.’

Haunui settled his bulk more comfortably on the narrow wooden seat. ‘So, what has been happening here, my friend?
Will
Rian find riches?’

Pierre waggled his hand in a maybe-yes, maybe-no gesture. ‘It is a wager, even though his claim she is supposed to be a
guaranteed
one. Ordinary men like you and me can grow rich overnight, and rich men become paupers if they are not knowing when to stop. It is like the cards and the dice. It is like a fever.’

Alarmed now, Haunui asked, ‘And does Rian have this fever?’

Pierre thought about it. ‘
Non
, you know him, he is not a stupid man. He just like…the
challenge
.’

‘Must have spent a lot of money on this challenge. And what does Kitty think?’

‘I think she be ready to kick his arse when he first tell her.’ Pierre chuckled. ‘But now she be all right with it. ’Specially now she has the bakery. Her friend Mademoiselle Flora McRae? She is the business partner. Fine woman.
Very
fine woman.’

Haunui’s heavy brows met in a scowl. Who was Flora McRae?

‘The woman she stay with in Auckland?’ Pierre elaborated. ‘When she find Amber? Her name Langford then, I think.’

Ah! Haunui did remember, although he had never met Miss Langford himself. ‘What is she doing here?’

‘She is being a madam.’

‘She is married?’

‘Non, she is the manager of a whorehouse.’

Now Haunui’s brows shot skyward. ‘And she lent Kitty money?’

‘
Non,
she buy the business, Kitty manages it, I cook for it, Leena and Amber take the money off the customers.’

Haunui digested this. ‘And it’s doing all right, this business?’

‘
Oui,
now. We start off very good, then a bad patch, then very good again.’

Without even turning around, Haunui said mildly, ‘Leave that kai alone, boy.’ There was a scuffling as Tahi reluctantly moved away from the bread. ‘What was the reason for the bad patch?’

Pierre slowed the bullock and eased the cart off the track as a heavily loaded wagon clattered past. ‘You know Leena is in the shop? Well, there is another madam on the diggings, a trollop named Lily Pearce.
Mon Dieu
, what a
chatte
.’ He spat over the side of the cart, then told Haunui what had happened in the shop.