Song of the Spirits (11 page)

“What do you think of her?”

Gwyneira’s patience had been tested for quite a long time before she finally had Helen to herself. Not only tea but the little family dinner was over, and they had sent the children off to bed. Elaine and Georgie had gone willingly, and Kura, too, seemed happy to retire. She explained that she still had a letter to write—Gwyneira could all too well imagine what she would report to Miss Witherspoon about her family.

Helen took a sip of wine. She loved the Bordeaux that Ruben regularly had sent from France. She’d had to endure too many years without those kinds of luxuries.

“What would you like to hear? About how beautiful Kura is? You already know that. How musical? You know that too. The problem is that she also knows it—all too well.”

Gwyneira smiled. “You’ve come straight to the point. She’s horribly conceited. But what about her voice, for example? Is that really enough for the opera?”

Helen shrugged. “I have not attended an opera performance for forty-five years. So what can I possibly say? What does her teacher think? She should know about that sort of thing.”

Gwyneira rolled her eyes. “Miss Witherspoon was not engaged as a music teacher. In truth, she’s supposed to be giving all the children on Kiward Station a proper education. But it looks like I’ve made an awful mistake. She comes from a very good house, you see. First-class
education, boarding school in Switzerland. On paper she looked grand. But then her father overreached on some deal, lost all his money, and threw himself out a window. Suddenly little Heather had to make her own way in the world. Unfortunately, it’s been difficult for her to move past that. And she’d hardly unpacked before Kura started filling Miss Witherspoon’s head with all the things that had always filled her own.”

Helen laughed. “But she must have studied music. Kura plays exceptionally, and her voice. I mean, you can recognize that she’s had some training.”

“Miss Witherspoon had voice and piano instruction in Switzerland,” Gwyneira informed her. “For how long, I didn’t ask. I only know that she complains it was far too little, and that she can hardly teach Kura anything else. But Kura soaks up everything that has to do with music like a sponge. Even Marama says she can’t teach the girl anything more, and as you know, she’s considered a
tohunga
.”

“Well, then her voice should be enough for the opera. A conservatory could only do Kura good. If she were there, she would finally just be one among many and would no longer be worshipped by everyone she came into contact with.”

Gwyneira dissented. “I don’t worship her!”

Helen smiled. “No, you’re afraid of her, which is worse! You live in fear that this child might get into some mischief that would lead to the loss of Kiward Station.”

Gwyneira sighed. “But I can’t send her to London.”

“Better that than into the arms of some Maori boy serving as Tonga’s marionette. Look at it this way, Gwyn: Even if Kura goes to London and marries in London, she remains the heiress. And even if Kiward Station is of no interest to her, she won’t sell it—at least not as long as she doesn’t need money. And you are not lacking for money, are you?”

Gwyneira shook her head. “We could furnish her with a generous stipend.”

Helen nodded. “Then do it! If she marries overseas, the cards will be reshuffled, of course, but that wouldn’t necessarily be a bad thing.
As long as she doesn’t fall into the hands of a philanderer or a gambler or a criminal, her husband won’t lay a hand on a farm in New Zealand that pays out money every month. The same goes for her children. If one of them feels a calling to become a farmer, then that child can come here. Though they might prefer to take the money and make a nice life with it.”

Gwyneira chewed on her lip. “We would only have to ensure a steady flow of money—and later, Jack, when he takes over the farm. We couldn’t afford bad times anymore.”

“But based on what you’ve told me, Jack seems to be growing into quite an able farmer,” Helen observed. “How is his relationship with Kura? Would she have anything against his taking over the farm?”

Gwyneira shook her head. “She doesn’t care about Jack. Just as she doesn’t care about anything that can’t be transcribed in music notes.”

“Well, all right! Then I wouldn’t brood too long over what could, would, or should happen if the farming doesn’t go well at some point in the distant future. You can’t always assume the worst. There’s not even any guarantee that Kura will remain dependent on an allowance from you. She could very well work her way up to being an internationally renowned opera star and find herself swimming in money. Or she might make something of her looks and marry a prince. I can’t imagine that this girl will burden your pockets her whole life. She’s too pretty and too self-assured for that.”

Gwyneira lay awake for a long time that night mulling over Helen’s suggestion. Perhaps her categorical refusal to consider Kura’s plans up to that point had been wrong. In the cold light of day, there was nothing to keep Kura on Kiward Station—if Tonga was unsuccessful with his plans, she could sell the farm as soon as she was an adult. Though Gwyneira had never seriously considered it as a viable option, Helen had cast things in a drastically different light for her. Her guardianship of Kura would end soon, and then Kiward Station would be delivered up to the young woman for weal or woe.

By the time the gray dawn had begun to edge out the darkness, Gwyneira had almost reached a decision. She still had to speak to
James about it, but when she laid out Helen’s arguments to him, she was certain that he would come to the same conclusion.

Kura-maro-tini Warden had never been closer to the fulfillment of her wishes than on that radiantly beautiful fall day—on which William Martyn came to dinner at Nugget Manor.

R
uben O’Keefe had been thoroughly bored that first evening with Gwyneira and Kura—and he did not intend to repeat that anytime soon. The two of them would not be staying at Nugget Manor much longer; the house was too isolated for long-term guests, especially for someone who had never sat on a horse. Helen had rooms in her hotel ready for her friend and her friend’s granddaughter, and Gwyneira wanted to move there soon.

The first few days of her visits, however, were always dedicated to her shared interests with Elaine and Fleurette. Gwyneira and Fleurette discussed the inner workings of Kiward Station and Haldon down to the very last detail. Elaine was dying to show the progress she had made in riding, and to have her grandmother ride Banshee so she could hear what Gwyneira thought of her beloved horse. Elaine talked practically nonstop of riding the stallion that her grandmother had brought—that is, when she was not talking about her new dog.

While Kura rarely uttered a word, Elaine tended to prattle, and Ruben was already dreading another dinner with the two teenagers. But then he came upon William in the store, hard at work registering the new shipment, and he concocted a brilliant plan to avoid a repetition of the previous evening.

His young bookkeeper and would-be son-in-law had conversed quite enthusiastically with Kura the day before. Moreover, he could be depended on to keep Elaine from chattering on endlessly about dogs and horses, as William did not care for either. In William’s presence, Elaine expressed herself only on subjects that were of interest to him. This drove Fleurette crazy, but Ruben found it rather practical. So practical that he issued the invitation as soon as William had completed
the gargantuan task of registering all the new merchandise and stacking it on the shelves masterfully with hardly any help.

“William, I hope you’ll join us for dinner tonight. Elaine would be delighted, and you seemed to get along quite well with my niece yesterday.”

William Martyn appeared both surprised and happy. Of course he would come. Naturally, he had no other plans—he needed only to notify Helen and the twins that he would not be present for dinner. During his lunch break, William walked over to the hotel, where he found Elaine at the piano, with her puppy, Callie, at her side. The dog accompanied her piano performance with piercing howls, causing the twins to fall over laughing. The house servant and one of the bankers heartily enjoyed the show, and even the ever-strict Miss Carpenter managed a smile.

“I think she sings much better than my cousin,” Elaine was joking. “But fortunately, she hasn’t decided on pursuing opera yet.”

William did not know why this quip, harmless in and of itself, annoyed him, but he had already experienced a wave of mild anger when Ruben O’Keefe had casually described his niece’s behavior. How could Kura Warden be “morose”? However, he had quickly forgiven his boss, to whom he felt greatly indebted for such a wondrous invitation. Since seeing Kura the previous day, he had thought about nothing but when he would run into her again and what he would say to her then. She was without a doubt a very bright girl. Naturally, she would not have any inclination to discuss such petty things as…

At that moment, Elaine spied her beau, and her eyes brightened. She had been counting on seeing William in town and had made herself pretty for that reason. A green circlet held her hair out of her face, and she was wearing a green-and-brown checkered batiste dress, for which it was already almost a little too cold outside.

“Come and play something with me Mr. Martyn!” she called out in a high-pitched voice. “Or are you busy? I promise to keep Callie quiet while we play.”

Mary—or Laurie—took the hint right away, picking up the dog and disappearing with it into the kitchen. Meanwhile, Laurie—or Mary—pushed a second piano stool up next to Elaine’s.

William could play the piano a bit and had charmed Elaine not long ago by practicing a few easy pieces as a duet with her. But this time he put up a fight.

“Oh, not here in public! Maybe tonight. Your father invited me to dinner.”

“Really?” Elaine spun around on her stool with a grin. “How lovely! He nearly died of boredom last night with that awful cousin of mine. Such a bore, you wouldn’t believe it! Oh well, you’ll see soon enough. She’s quite pretty, of course, but otherwise… if I were in my grandmum’s place, I’d send her to London sooner rather than later.”

William had to fight back against his rising displeasure. “Quite pretty?” The girl he had seen the day before was a goddess! And what was Elaine talking about, sending her away? He couldn’t let that happen. He…

He called himself firmly back to order. What did this girl have to do with him? Kura Warden was absolutely nothing to him; he should not get involved. He forced himself to smile at Elaine. “It won’t be all that bad. By the way, you too look particularly pretty this morning.”

With that, he took his leave to look for Helen, while Elaine followed him with her eyes, disappointed. “You too look particularly pretty?” She had grown accustomed to receiving more finely polished compliments from him.

When Fleurette O’Keefe learned of Ruben’s invitation that afternoon, she was not enthusiastic. She had prepared only a small, informal dinner. Not even Helen had wanted to come out for it. With William as a guest, she would have to put more effort into her cooking and serving, on top of which, Fleurette did not exactly find him easy to please. She had not warmed up to the loquacious young Irishman.
She never knew when William was speaking his mind and when he was merely humoring her or her husband. Besides, she still had not forgotten Lady Chesfield’s insinuations. An assassination attempt on the chief secretary for Ireland? If William had really been mixed up in that, he could be dangerous.

Additionally, the looks that every male in the vicinity without exception had directed at Kura thus far had not escaped her. She did not think it was a good idea to lead Elaine’s young suitor into temptation. But there was nothing to be done about it now. William had accepted, and Kura-maro-tini had shown remarkable liveliness when Fleurette told Gwyneira and her granddaughter about it.

“I should wear my red dress!” the girl declared. “And I have to clean myself up a bit. Could you send me up a girl to help me get ready, Aunt Fleur? I have difficulty lacing my own corset.”

Kura was accustomed to having servants. Though Gwyneira had always tried to manage with a minimum of housemaids and kitchen maids, the manor house of Kiward Station was too big to keep clean herself, and her domestic talents were not especially pronounced. So several Maori girls worked under the aegis of their “butler” Maui, in addition to her head maids Moana and Ani. When Kura was little, they had looked after the child, and Ani, a skillful little thing, had later become a sort of lady’s maid who kept Kura’s clothes in order and did her hair.

Fleur looked at her niece as though she were not altogether right in the head.

“You can put your own clothes on, Kura! This isn’t a large house. We only have a handyman and a gardener who takes care of the stables too. I don’t think either of them would care to tie your corset.”

Kura did not dignify this with a response and instead moped her way upstairs. Fleurette shook her head and turned to Gwyneira.

“Just what kind of ideas does the child have? She is clearly holding out for something better than us common folk. I’ve caught on to that. But you don’t really allow her a lady’s maid of her own?”