In the Land of the Long White Cloud (58 page)

The crying did Gwyneira good, and she was relieved that Helen knew but didn’t judge her. Her friend obviously had not thought for even a moment that Gwyneira would have slept with Gerald of her own free will—a nightmare that had plagued Gwyneira ever since she had become pregnant. Since James had left, a rumor to that effect had been making the rounds in the stables, and Gwyneira was only happy that it had escaped James McKenzie. She could not have handled James asking her about it. Gwyneira’s “breeder self” could follow the thinking that had caused her employees and friends to come to this conclusion. After Lucas’s failure had become common knowledge, conceiving the heir with Gerald would have been the next best thing. Gwyneira wondered why the thought had not crossed her mind when she was in search of a father for her first child—perhaps because Lucas’s father acted so aggressively toward her that she feared every conversation and every moment alone with him. But Gerald might have toyed with the idea himself, and perhaps that was also a reason for his drinking and his anger: quite possibly everything had served to keep his forbidden lust—and the monstrous idea of simply siring his own “grandson”—from raising its head at all.

Gwyneira was lost in thought as she directed the carriage home. Fortunately, she did not need to keep Fleur occupied; she rode proudly and happily on her own next to the chaise. George Greenwood had presented little Paul with a pony for his christening—he must have planned it far in advance and ordered the little mare while he was still in England, just after learning of Gwyneira’s pregnancy. Fleurette had naturally taken the horse for herself right away and had gotten along very well with it from the first. There was no way she would give it up when Paul got older. Gwyneira would have to think of something,
but there was time for that. Before anything else, she had to address the problem of Paul being regarded as a bastard in Haldon. It wouldn’t do to have the Warden heir being whispered about. Gwyneira had to defend her honor and her good name.

When she finally arrived at Kiward Station, she made straight for her rooms, looking for the baby. As expected, she found his crib empty. After looking around, she discovered Kiri in the kitchen with both infants, one on each breast.

Gwyn forced herself to smile.

“There’s my boy,” she remarked kindly. “When he’s done, can I…can I hold him awhile, Kiri?”

If this desire struck Kiri as surprising, she did not show it. She just beamed at Gwyneira. “Of course! Will be happy to see mama.”

But Paul was not happy at all and started bawling as soon as Gwyneira took him from Kiri’s arms.

“He not mean it like that,” Kiri murmured, embarrassed. “Is just not used.”

Gwyneira rocked the baby in her arms and strove to suppress the impatience rising up within her. Helen was right; the baby couldn’t do anything about it. And when she looked at him objectively, Paul was a handsome child. He had large, clear eyes, still blue and round as marbles. His hair was dark, curly, and unruly, and the noble shape of his mouth reminded Gwyneira of Lucas. It shouldn’t be all that difficult to learn to love this baby…but before anything else, she needed to clean out the rumor mill.

“I’ll be holding him more often, so he gets used to me,” she declared to the amazed but delighted Kiri. “And I’m taking him with me tomorrow to Haldon. You can come along if you like. As his nanny.”

Then at least he won’t scream the whole time, Gwyneira thought, when the baby still had not calmed down after a half hour in his birth mother’s arms. Only after she laid him down again in the improvised baby basket—Kiri would have loved to carry the babies around with her constantly, but Gerald did not allow that during work—did the
little one calm himself. Moana sang a song for the children while she cooked. For the Maori, every female relative of the appropriate generation was considered a mother.

Mrs. Candler and Dorothy were delighted to finally have the Wardens’ heir presented to them. After giving Fleur a lollipop, Mrs. Candler could not get enough of little Paul. Gwyneira understood clearly that a test of his physical health was being carried out, and so she was happy to allow her old friend to take Paul out of his blankets and weigh him in her arms. The little boy was in fine spirits. He and Marama had enjoyed the rocking of the carriage. Both children had slept sweetly during the trip, and just before arriving, Kiri had fed them again. Now both babies were awake. Paul looked at Mrs. Candler with big, attentive eyes and moved his legs energetically. The Haldon housewives’ suspicions that the baby might be handicapped were thus definitively laid to rest. All that remained were the concerns about his paternity.

“The dark hair! And the long eyelashes! Just like his grandfather,” cooed Mrs. Candler.

Gwyneira also pointed out the shape of Paul’s lips, as well as his definite chin cleft, which both Lucas and Gerald shared.

“Has the father heard about his luck yet?” another matron butted in, having just interrupted her shopping to have a look at the baby. “Or is he still…oh, forgive me; that’s really none of my business.”

Gwyneira smiled sunnily. “But of course! Although his well-wishes haven’t had time to make their way back to us yet. My spouse is in England, Mrs. Brennerman—without my father-in-law’s approval. Hence all the secrecy, you know. Lucas received an invitation from a well-known art gallery to display his works there.”

That was not even a lie. In truth, George Greenwood had been able to interest several London galleries in Lucas’s work—though Gwyneira had first heard this news after Lucas had left Kiward Station. But she didn’t need to tell them everything.

“Oh, that’s wonderful.” Mrs. Candler was delighted. “And here we thought…oh, forget it! And the proud grandfather? The men in the pub missed his celebratory merrymaking.”

Gwyneira forced herself to exhibit a relaxed but slightly concerned face.

“Mr. Warden has not been feeling well lately,” she explained, which was pretty close to the truth, since her father-in-law fought daily battles with the whiskey he’d enjoyed the night before. “But naturally, he’s still planning a party. Perhaps another big garden party since the christening was a rather spartan affair. We’ll make up for it, right, Pauly?” She took the baby from Mrs. Candler and thanked heaven it did not scream.

And that was it. She had survived it. The conversation now shifted from Kiward Station to the wedding being planned for Dorothy and the Candlers’ youngest son. Two years earlier, the oldest had married Francine, the young midwife, and the middle son was off exploring the world for the first time. Mrs. Candler reported that they had just received a letter from him from Sydney.

“I think he’s in love,” she said with an impish smile.

Gwyneira was truly happy for the young couple, though she could vividly picture what was coming Mrs. Candler’s way. The rumor, “Leon Candler is marrying a convict girl from Botany Bay,” would soon eclipse the rather meager sensation, “Lucas Warden is displaying art in London.”

“Just send Dorothy to me for her wedding dress,” Gwyneira said as she bid them a friendly farewell. “I once promised her I’d lend her mine when the time came.”

Hopefully it will at least bring her luck
, thought Gwyneira as she steered Kiri and her brood back to the coach.

Well, that had been a success.

Now for Gerald…

“We’re throwing a party!” Gwyneira declared, having hardly set foot in the salon. With a look of determination, she took the whiskey bottle out of Gerald’s hand and locked it behind the glass in the liquor cabinet. “We’re going to start planning it right away, and you’ll need a clear head for that.”

Gerald already seemed a little foggy. Despite his glassy eyes, he evidently could still follow Gwyneira.

“Wha…what is there to celebrate, exactly?” he inquired drunkenly.

Gwyneira glared daggers at him. “The birth of your ‘grandson’!” she said. “Most people would call that a happy event, if you care to recall. And all of Haldon is waiting for you to honor it appropriately.”

“Qui…quite a party…when the mo…mother is sulking and the fa…father is off somewhere else,” Gerald scoffed.

“You’re not exactly innocent with regard to Lucas’s and my lack of enthusiasm!” Gwyneira fired back at him. “But as you see, I’m not sulking. I’ll be there, I’ll smile—and you will read aloud a letter from Lucas who, regretfully, is still in England. Everything is burning down, Gerald! They’re walking all over us in Haldon. There are rumors that Paul…well, that he’s not a Warden.”

The party took place three weeks later in Kiward Station’s garden. Rivers of champagne flowed once again. Gerald acted amiable and let himself be saluted. Gwyneira kept a smile glued to her face and revealed to the assembled guests that Paul was named after his great-grandfathers. She pointed out the obvious similarities to Gerald to nearly all the members of the community. Blessedly, Paul himself slumbered in the arms of his nanny. Gwyneira prudently avoided presenting him herself. He still howled when she held him, and she still reacted with anger and impatience. She understood that she had to welcome this child into the family and secure his position—but she could not feel anything deeper for the boy. Paul remained estranged from her, and what was worse—every time she looked into his eyes, she was reminded of Gerald’s lustful grimace on the fateful night of
his conception. When the party was finally over, Gwyneira fled into the stables and cried without restraint into Igraine’s soft mane just as she had done as a child when something seemed hopeless. Gwyneira wished it had never happened. She yearned for James, even for Lucas. She still had not heard a word from her husband, and Gerald’s researches had proved fruitless. The country was simply too big. Whoever wanted to stay missing, stayed missing.

“J
ust hit him, Luke! Once, with something behind it, on the back of the noggin. He won’t feel a thing.” Even as Roger spoke, he did in another abandoned seal pup—in accordance with the rules of the seal hunting profession, the animal died without his pelt being harmed. The hunters killed by hitting the seal on the back of the head with a club. If blood flowed at all, it flowed out the nose of the young seal. After that they got straight to work skinning it, without even bothering to make sure the animal was dead beforehand.

Lucas Warden raised his club, but he could not bring himself to harm the small animal looking at him with the trusting eyes of a child. The lamentations of the mother seals all around him didn’t help. The men were only there for the pups’ soft and valuable pelts. They wandered across the seal banks where the mothers raised their children, killing the pups before their mothers’ eyes. The rocks of Tauranga Bay were already red with their blood—and Lucas had to fight the urge to vomit. He could not comprehend how the men could be so heartless. The suffering of the animals did not bother them in the least; they even made jokes about how benevolently and helplessly the seals awaited their hunters. Lucas had joined the party three days before but had yet to kill an animal. At first the men appeared to hardly notice that he only helped with the skinning and storing of the pelts on the wagons and flats. But now they were insisting that he take part in the slaughter too. Lucas felt hopelessly sick. Was
this
what made a man? What was so much more honest about the work of killing helpless animals than painting and writing? Lucas, however, was tired of asking himself these questions. He was here to prove himself, determined to do exactly the work that his father had done to lay the foundations of
his wealth. Originally Lucas had hired himself onto a whaling ship, but that had ended in ignominious failure. Lucas did not like to admit it, but he had fled—this despite the fact that he had already signed the contract and really liked the man who had hired him.