In the Land of the Long White Cloud (81 page)

Regardless, they submitted, however unwillingly, to the farmer’s directions, giving up on their cherished notion of finding a good dinner and first-class whiskey waiting for them before McKenzie’s arrest.

“We’ll celebrate,” Sideblossom confirmed, “after the hunt.”

The following morning, the farmer waited for the other men at the stables, the howling, dirty Maori boy at his side. John Sideblossom had the youth walk out in front, promising him that horrible punishments awaited him if he tried to escape.

That hardly seemed possible. After all, they were all riding horses, and the boy was on foot.

Still, the boy was able to walk a good distance and hopped with light feet across the stony landscape of the foothills, which proved to be difficult terrain for Barrington’s and Beasley’s thoroughbreds.

At one point he no longer seemed to be as sure of the way, but a few sharp words from John Sideblossom caused him to cave. The Maori boy led the search party across a stream in a dried-out riverbed that cut like a knife between stone walls.

James McKenzie and Fleur might have been able to flee if the dogs had not just herded the sheep around a bend in the riverbed in front of them, in a spot where the riverbed had just widened. The sheep were still bleating heart-wrenchingly—another advantage for the pursuers, who fanned out at the sight of the flock in the riverbed in order to cut them off.

James McKenzie’s gaze fell directly on John Sideblossom, whose horse had stepped to the front of the company. The sheep thief stopped his mule and sat there, frozen.

“There he is! Wait, are there two of them?” someone in the search party suddenly yelled. The call tore James from his stupor. He looked desperately around for an escape route. He would have a head start if he turned around, as the men would first have to wade through the three-hundred-head flock of sheep crammed in the riverbed. But they had fast horses and he only had his mule, which, moreover, was laden down with everything he owned. There was no way out. Fleurette, however…

“Fleur, turn around!” James called to her. “Ride, like I told you. I’ll try to hold them off.”

“But you…we…”

“Ride, Fleurette!” James McKenzie reached quickly into his belt pocket, at which a few of the men opened fire—fortunately only halfheartedly and without any aim. The thief drew out a small bag and tossed it to the girl.

“Here, take it! Now ride, damn it, ride!”

In the meantime, John Sideblossom had directed his stallion through the flock and had almost reached McKenzie. In a few more seconds, he would notice Fleurette, who was still mostly hidden from view by some rocks. The girl fought back her strong desire to remain by McKenzie’s side. He was right: they didn’t have a chance.

Halfheartedly, but with clear instructions, she turned Niniane around while James McKenzie rode slowly toward John Sideblossom.

“Who do these sheep belong to?” the breeder spat out hatefully.

James looked at him unperturbed. “What sheep?”

Out of the corner of her eye, Fleurette could just make out John Sideblossom pulling him from the mule and striking him hard. Then she was gone. Niniane galloped at a breakneck pace into “McKenzie’s Highlands.” Gracie followed her, but not Friday. Fleur kicked herself for not calling the dog, but it was too late. She breathed a sigh of relief as Niniane set her hooves on grass—she had put the most dangerous of the rocky landscape behind her. She rode south as fast as the horse would take her.

No one would catch up with her again.

Q
ueenstown, Otago, lay on the edge of a natural bay on the shore of Lake Wakatipu, surrounded by rugged and imposing mountains. The landscape surrounding it was overpowering, the massive lake a steel blue, the fern forests and pastures expansive and luminous, the mountain range majestic and raw and still virtually unexplored. Only the town itself was tiny. In comparison to the handful of two-story houses that had been quickly thrown up here, Haldon seemed like a big city. The only building that stood out was a three-story wooden structure whose sign read “Daphne’s Hotel.”

Fleurette tried not to be disappointed as she rode down dusty Main Street. She had expected a larger settlement. After all, Queenstown was supposed to be the center of the gold rush in Otago at the time. Then again, you could hardly pan for gold on the main drag. The miners probably lived on their claims out in the wilderness around the town. The small community would make it that much easier to find Ruben. Fleur stopped boldly before the hotel and tied Niniane in front. She would have expected a hotel to have its own stables, but from the first step inside, she could see that this place looked quite different from the hotel in Christchurch where she had occasionally stayed with her family. Instead of a reception desk, there was a bar. The hotel seemed to be partly a pub.

“We’re not open yet!” a girl’s voice called from behind the counter when Fleur stepped closer. She saw a young blonde woman, busily engaged in some task. When she got a look at Fleur, she looked up in surprise.

“Are you…a new girl?” she asked, taken aback. “I thought they were coming by coach and not until next week.” The young woman had soft blue eyes and very pale, delicate skin.

Fleurette smiled at her.

“I need a room,” she said, a little thrown off by the strange reception. “This is a hotel, right?”

The young woman looked Fleurette over in astonishment. “You want…now? Alone?”

Fleurette blushed. She knew it was unusual for a girl her age to be traveling alone.

“Yes, I just arrived. I’m trying to meet up with my fiancé.”

The girl looked relieved. “So your…fiancé is coming soon.” She said the word “fiancé” as though Fleur had not quite meant it seriously.

Fleur wondered whether her arrival was all that strange. Or was the girl not quite right in the head?

“No, my fiancé doesn’t know that I’m here. And I don’t know exactly where he is. That’s why I need a room. I at least want to know where I’ll be sleeping tonight. And I can pay for the room; I have money.”

That was true. Fleurette was not only carrying her mother’s money with her—but also the purse James McKenzie had thrown to her at the last minute. The bag contained a small fortune in gold dollars—apparently, everything that her father had “earned” over the last few years from his livestock theft. Fleur wasn’t sure whether she was supposed to hold on to it for him or keep it for herself. But she could worry about that later. For the time being, her hotel bill would not be a problem.

“So you want to stay the whole night?” asked the girl, who clearly must have had something wrong with her. “I’ll fetch Daphne for you.” Obviously relieved at this thought, the blonde disappeared into the kitchen.

A few minutes later a somewhat older woman appeared. Her face was just beginning to show its first wrinkles and the traces of too much whiskey and too many long nights. But her eyes were a bright green and lively, and her voluminous hair had been pinned up saucily.

“Well look, a redhead!” she said, laughing when she caught sight of Fleur. “And golden eyes, a rare treasure. Well, if you wanted to start with me, I’d take you on at once. But Laurie says you just want a room.”

Fleurette told her story once more. “I’m sure I don’t know what your employee finds so strange about that,” she finished, a little annoyed.

The woman laughed. “There’s nothing strange about it; only Laurie isn’t used to hotel guests. Look, child, I don’t know where you come from, but I’d guess Christchurch or Dunedin where rich people bed down in nice hotels. Here the emphasis is on the ‘bed,’ if you see what I mean. People rent the rooms for an hour or two, and we provide the company to go with them.”

Fleurette began to glow red. She had fallen in with whores! This was a…no, she did not want to even think the word.

Daphne observed her with a smile and grabbed her tightly when she moved to storm out. “Now, wait a minute, child! Where do you think you’re going? You don’t need to be afraid; no one’s going to rape you here.”

Fleur stopped short. It probably was absurd to flee. Daphne didn’t look frightening—nor did the girl from a moment before.

“So where can I sleep? Do you also have a…a…”

“An honorable place to sleep?” Daphne asked. “I’m afraid not. The men who pass through here sleep in the rental stables next to their horses. Or they ride straight into one of the gold prospector camps. There’s always a place to sleep there for a new fellow.”

Fleur nodded. “Fine. Well…then I’ll do that too. Maybe I’ll even find my fiancé there.” Pluckily she took her bag and moved to leave again.

Daphne shook her head. “I think not, dear. A child like you alone among one hundred, two hundred men who are starved to the breaking point—after all, they only earn enough to afford a girl here every six months at most. Those are not gentlemen, little miss. And your ‘fiancé’—what’s the boy’s name? Maybe I know him.”

Fleurette blushed again; this time from indignation. “Ruben would never…he would never…”

Daphne laughed. “Then he would be a rare exception among his species. Believe me, child, they all end up here. Unless they’re queer. But we don’t want to make that assumption in your case.”

Fleur did not really know what she meant by the word, but she was certain that Ruben had never set foot in this establishment. She nevertheless gave Daphne his name. She thought about it for a long time and finally shook her head.

“Never heard of him. And I have a good memory for names. So I guess your dear heart hasn’t made his fortune yet.”

Fleur nodded. “If he had made his fortune, he would already have come for me by now,” she said, full of conviction. “But now I need to go; it will be getting dark soon. Where did you say these camps were?”

Daphne sighed. “I can’t send you there, girl, not in good conscience and certainly not at night. I guarantee that you wouldn’t emerge intact. So there’s nothing left for me to do but rent you a room. For the whole night.”

“But I…I don’t want…” Fleur did not know how she was supposed to get out of this. On the other hand, there hardly seemed to be an alternative.

“Child, the rooms have doors, and the doors have locks. You can have room one. That normally belongs to the twins, and they rarely have customers. Come along, I’ll show you. The dog…” she indicated Gracie, who was lying in front of Fleur and looking up at her with her adoring collie gaze, “you can take with you,” she added when Fleurette hesitated. Then they climbed the stairs.

Fleurette followed nervously, but to her relief the second floor of Daphne’s Hotel more closely resembled the White Hart in Christchurch than some Sodom or Gomorrah. Another blonde woman—who looked astoundingly similar to the girl downstairs—was polishing the floor. She greeted them in surprise as Daphne led her guest past her.

Daphne smiled at her. “This is Miss…what’s your name again?” she inquired. “I’m going to have to get a hold of some proper registration forms if I’m going to start renting these rooms out for more than an hour!” She winked.

Fleurette’s thoughts raced. Surely it wouldn’t be a good idea to use her real name. “Fleurette,” she finally replied. “Fleur McKenzie.”

“Related by blood or marriage to a certain James?” Daphne asked. “He’s also supposed to have a dog like that.”

Fleur reddened once more. “Um…not that I’m aware of…” she stammered.

“They caught him, by the way, the poor fellow. And that Sideblossom from Lionel Station wanted to hang him,” Daphne explained, but then remembered her introductions. “You heard her, Mary—Fleur McKenzie. She’s rented one of our rooms.”

“For…the whole night?” Mary asked as well.

Daphne sighed. “The whole night, Mary. We’re becoming an honest establishment. So, here’s room one. Come in, girl!”

She opened the room, and Fleurette entered an astonishingly respectable little room. The furnishings were simple, roughly hewn from native wood, the bed wide and impeccably made. The establishment radiated nothing but cleanliness and order. Fleur resolved to think about nothing else.

“It’s lovely!” she said and really meant it. “Thank you, miss…or mistress…?”

Daphne shook her head. “Miss. In my line of work one rarely becomes an honest woman. Though judging from all my experiences with men—and there have been many, dear—I haven’t missed anything worth mentioning. Well, I’ll leave you alone now, so you can freshen up. Mary or Laurie will bring you water to wash up straightaway.” She was going to shut the door, but Fleur stopped her.