In the Land of the Long White Cloud (67 page)

Whoever was keeping the books had a hell of a job keeping up. Yet the young woman who passed among the men noting their output did not seem overly taxed. Clearly relaxed, she joked with the shearers, and it did not appear that her tallies were ever challenged. Gwyneira Warden wore a simple gray riding dress, and her long red hair was braided carelessly. Though short, she was obviously just as energetic as her daughter—and as she now turned her face in the direction of Steinbjörn, he was blown away by so much beauty. What had Luke been thinking leaving such a woman behind? Steinbjörn could hardly take in her noble features, her sensual lips, and her enchanting indigo-blue eyes. He did not realize he had been staring until her smile turned into a frown, at which point he immediately averted his eyes.

“This is Mummy. And this is Stein…Stein…something with Stein,” Fleur said, attempting a formal introduction.

Steinbjörn had regained his composure and hobbled over to Gwyneira.

“Lady Warden? Steinbjörn Sigleifson. I’ve come from Westport. Mr. Greenwood asked me…well, I was with your late husband when…” He extended his hand to her.

Gwyneira nodded. “Mrs., not Lady, Warden,” she corrected him mechanically as she shook his hand. “But welcome. George mentioned something…but we can’t talk here. Wait a moment, please.”

The young woman looked around, then located an older, dark-haired man among the shearers and exchanged a few words with him. Then she announced to the men in the warehouse that Andy McAran would be handling the overseeing for a while.

“And I expect that you will all maintain our lead! Right now this warehouse is well ahead of one and three. Don’t let them take it from us. As you well know, the winners get a barrel of the best whiskey!” She waved cheerfully to the men, then turned to Steinbjörn. “Come
with me, please; we’ll go to the house. But first let’s find my father-in-law. He should also hear what you have to say.”

Steinbjörn followed Gwyneira and her daughter out to the horses. There Gwyneira mounted a powerful brown mare, quickly and without help. The boy also now noticed the dogs that followed her everywhere.

“Aren’t you needed elsewhere, Finn, Flora? Away with you, back in the warehouse. You come along, Cleo.” The young woman shooed two of the collies back to the sheep shearers; the third, an older dog who was gradually graying around the nose, joined the riders.

Warehouse one, where Gerald was working as overseer, was located west of the main house about a mile away. Gwyneira rode in silence, and Steinbjörn did not say a word either. Fleur alone provided the general entertainment by reporting excitedly about school, where there had apparently been a fight.

“Mr. O’Keefe was very angry at Ruben because he was at school and wasn’t helping with the sheep since the shearers are coming in a few days. Mr. O’Keefe still has sheep in the high pastures, and Ruben was supposed to fetch them, but Ruben is horribly bad when it comes to sheep. I told him: I’ll come help you tomorrow. I’ll take Finn and Flora along, then it’ll go quick as a flash.”

Gwyneira sighed. “O’Keefe will not be particularly happy that there’s a Warden with a few Silkham collies herding his sheep while his son studies Latin…watch out that he doesn’t shoot at you!”

Steinbjörn found the mother’s way of expressing herself as strange as that of her daughter, but Fleur seemed to understand.

“He thinks Ruben has to want to do all that because he’s a boy,” Fleurette remarked.

Gwyneira sighed again and halted her horse in front of a warehouse that looked just like the one they had come from. “He’s not the only one. Here…come along, if you please, Mr. Sigleifson. This is where my father-in-law is working. Or wait here if you prefer, and I’ll bring him right out. There’s as much of a rumpus in here as there was in mine.”

Steinbjörn had already dismounted, so he followed her into the warehouse. It would not have been polite to greet the older man from
the saddle. Besides, he hated when people treated him differently because of his limp.

An active, noisy commotion filled warehouse one just as it had in Gwyneira’s division, but the atmosphere was different here—palpably more strained, not as chummy. The men seemed less motivated, more pressed or hounded. And the powerful older man moving among the shearers criticized rather than joked with them. A half-empty bottle of whiskey and a glass stood next to the board where he noted output. He was just taking another drink when Gwyneira entered and spoke to him.

Steinbjörn saw a bloated face with bloodshot eyes; whiskey had clearly taken its toll on the man.

“What are you doing here?” he snapped at Gwyneira. “Already done with the five thousand sheep in warehouse two?”

Gwyneira shook her head. Steinbjörn noticed her simultaneously concerned and accusatory glance at the bottle.

“No, Gerald, Andy is handling it. I was called away. And I think you should come too. Gerald, this is Mr. Sigleifson. He’s come to tell us about Lucas’s death.” She introduced Steinbjörn, but the old man’s face exhibited only disdain.

“And you’re leaving the warehouse in the lurch for that? To hear what your cock-sucking husband’s catamite has to say?”

Gwyneira looked shocked, but to her relief her young visitor looked on uncomprehending. His Nordic accent had already caught her attention—either he had not heard or he just didn’t understand what the words meant.

“Gerald, this young man was the last person to see Lucas alive.” She calmly tried once more, but the old man exploded at her.

“And kissed him good-bye, eh? Spare me these stories, Gwyn. Lucas is dead. He should rest in peace, but please leave me in peace too! And I don’t want to catch that boy in my house when I’m done here.”

Gerald turned away. Gwyneira led Steinbjörn out with an apologetic expression on her face. “Please forgive my father-in-law; it’s the whiskey talking. He never got over Lucas…well, him being what he
was, or that he ended up leaving the farm…deserted it, as Gerald puts it. Lord knows he had his part in it. But that’s ancient history. I’m grateful that you’ve come, Mr. Sigleifson. Let’s go to the house; you could no doubt do with some refreshment.”

Steinbjörn could hardly bring himself to set foot in the manor. He was sure he’d make one mistake after another. Luke had occasionally brought to his attention certain details of correct table posture and the rules of etiquette, and even Daphne seemed to know something of these matters. But he himself knew nothing and was terribly afraid of making a fool of himself in front of Gwyneira. She, however, led him entirely naturally in through a side door, took his jacket, and then rang, not for the maid apparently, because they met straightaway with the nanny, Kiri, in the salon. Gerald had recently lifted his prohibition on the young woman bringing the children along when she was cleaning or taking care of other housework. He had eventually realized that if he banned Kiri to the kitchen, Paul would grow up there.

Gwyneira greeted Kiri kindly and took one of the babies out of the baby basket.

“Mr. Sigleifson, my son Paul,” she said, though the last words were drowned out by the baby’s earsplitting scream. Paul did not seem to relish being taken from his adopted sister Marama’s side.

Steinbjörn pondered a few things. Paul was still a baby. He must have been born during Luke’s absence.

“I give up,” sighed Gwyneira, laying the baby back in its basket. “Kiri, would you take the babies please—Fleur too; she still needs to eat, and what the two of us have to discuss is not suitable for her ears. And could you please make us some tea—or coffee, Mr. Sigleifson?”

“Steinbjörn, please,” the boy said shyly. “Or David. Luke called me David.”

Gwyneira’s gaze passed over his features and his ruffled hair. Then she smiled. “He always was a little jealous of Michelangelo,” she remarked after a pause. “Come, sit down. You had a long ride.”

To his astonishment Steinbjörn did not find the conversation with Gwyneira Warden difficult at all. He had initially been worried that she didn’t know about Lucas’s death, but George Greenwood had obviously already said something. Gwyneira had long since overcome the first waves of sorrow and only asked sympathetically about Steinbjörn’s time with her husband, how they had come to know each other and what had happened during his final months.

Finally Steinbjörn described the circumstances of his death, blaming himself anew.

But Gwyneira saw things as Greenwood had and expressed herself even more strongly. “There’s nothing you could do about Lucas being unable to tie a knot. He was a good man, God knows I treasured him. And as it turns out, he was a very gifted artist. But he was hopelessly lacking in common sense. Still…I think he always wished he could be a hero just once. And he was in the end, wasn’t he?”

Steinbjörn nodded. “Everyone talks about him with the greatest respect, Mrs. Warden. People are considering naming the rock after him. The rock that…that we fell from.”

Gwyneira was touched. “I don’t think he ever wanted more than that.”

Steinbjörn was afraid she would burst into tears any moment, and he certainly had no idea how to properly comfort a lady. But then she regained her composure and continued with her questions. To his amazement, she asked a great many questions about Daphne, whom she remembered very well. After Greenwood reported having met the girl, Helen had written straightaway to Westport, but had yet to receive a response. Steinbjörn confirmed their suspicion that the red-haired Daphne in Westport was indeed Helen’s charge from long ago, and he informed her about the twins as well. Gwyneira was blown away when she heard about Laurie and Mary.

“So Daphne found the girls! Now how did she manage that? And they’re all doing well? Daphne’s taking care of them?”

“Well, they…” Steinbjörn reddened. “They…work a bit themselves. They dance. Here…here, Luke sketched them.” The boy had brought his saddlebags in with him and looked for a folder; having
located it, he thumbed through it. Only as he was pulling it out did it occur to him that these drawings were hardly fit for the eyes of a lady. However, Gwyneira did not bat an eye when she laid eyes on them. In order to supply the galleries in London, she had already combed through Lucas’s workroom and was therefore not nearly as innocent as she had been a few months before. Lucas had already painted nudes before—boys at first, who assumed the same pose as that of
David
, but men too in unambiguous poses. One of the images had displayed the traces of frequent use. Lucas had taken it out again and again, looked at it, and…

Gwyneira noticed that the nude sketches of the twins, but especially a study of young Daphne, contained finger indentations. Lucas? Hardly!

“You like Daphne, do you?” she asked her young visitor cautiously.

Steinbjörn blushed deeply. “Oh yes, very much! I wanted to marry her. But she doesn’t want me.” In the youth’s voice, she discerned all the pain of a lover spurned. This young man had never been Lucas’s “catamite.”

“You’ll marry a different girl,” Gwyneira comforted him. “You…you do like girls?”

Steinbjörn’s expression made it clear he thought that was the dumbest question a person could ask. Then he willingly gave her more information about his plans for the future. He planned to go looking for George Greenwood and work for him.

“I would have preferred to build houses,” he said sadly. “I wanted to be an architect. Luke said I had talent. But I would have had to go to school in England for that, and I can’t afford it. But here, these are for you.” Steinbjörn closed Lucas’s sketch portfolio and pushed it across to Gwyneira. “I brought you Luke’s pictures. All his drawings…Mr. Greenwood said they might be valuable. I don’t want to get rich that way. If I could maybe keep just one. The one of Daphne.”

Gwyneira smiled. “Naturally, you can keep all of them. No doubt that’s what Lucas would have wanted.” She considered briefly, seeming to arrive at a decision. “Go ahead and put your jacket on, David. We’ll ride to Haldon. There’s something else there that Lucas would have wanted.”

The director of the bank in Haldon seemed to think Gwyneira was crazy. He came up with a thousand reasons to refuse her request, but finally conceded when faced with her implacable determination. Reluctantly, he transferred the account into which Lucas’s income from the picture sales flowed to Steinbjörn Sigleifson’s name.