The Trespass (56 page)

As we forgive them

that trespass against us.

They were near enough, both women, to hear a small, light sigh.

Dearest, dearest Mary.

I am free.

And then if the kind ladies had been looking at her they would have seen just the ghost of a smile.

To be continued next week.

THIRTY-THREE

In the fresh morning air a dog barked in the distance.

The Lieutenant-Governor’s house was full of people but few of them were known personally to Harriet, though Mr and Mrs Burlington Brown were there, and Miss Eunice, and the vicar; somehow Edward had been sent for, across the harbour. Messages had been sent to the Governor-in-Chief in Auckland about the death of Sir Charles Cooper and the uneasy situation in Wellington. Armed soldiers were everywhere, the natives had now been forcibly confined to their villages. The Maori chief who had spoken at the settlers’ meeting had been to see the Lieutenant-Governor, they had been locked in his study for some time and raised voices were heard. It was agreed that the funeral of Sir Charles Cooper should be held as soon as possible in order for it not to be used as a rallying point for angry settlers: he was to be buried that afternoon. Fortuitously, although it was cloudy, they did not anticipate (which would turn the new cemetery to mud) rain. Harriet, of course, was not expected to attend the burial.

There was much discussion at Government House as to what was to be done with Harriet. She was so pale. She had not wept. She had lost her sister, and now her father. She must of course go back to England as soon as possible but should she be put aboard the
White Princess
next day as arranged by her father and sent back to London at once to the charge of her brothers? Or would such a journey be too soon after such a terrible shock? Mr Burlington Brown took it upon himself to speak to Harriet alone since he knew her so well; he spoke to her of her duty to her brothers and to God: Harriet nodded politely but did not speak, not at all.

A black petticoat had been found for Harriet at Government House and the rest of her things sent for from the hotel: no-one questioned her confusion at hearing the terrible news and not dressing properly; no-one thought of Peters bending to Sir Charles and saying that Harriet had disappeared. Peters was placed in the servants’ quarters in Government House until it could be decided what should be done with him; in his boot lay two sovereigns from Lord Ralph Kingdom.

Harriet was permitted to walk alone in the garden where a few last English roses, deep yellow, still grew along the low wooden fence. The dog barked, nearer, but Harriet did not hear, so deep in thought was she as she walked.

She only looked up when Quintus jumped the wall and ran like an arrow towards his old mistress in a wild, remembered joy.

Her face registered total disbelief.

‘Quintus?’

But of course it was Quintus, thousands of miles from Bryanston Square, his tail wagging madly, his ears back in sheer delight as he danced about Harriet. As she looked up from him she saw the Lieutenant-Governor escorting more guests upwards towards the door of Government House; Lord Ralph Kingdom and Sir Benjamin Kingdom walked gravely; behind them came her old maid Lucy, holding a small boy by the hand.

Just for a moment Harriet was so disoriented that the hills above her whirled. Lucy?
What was her maid Lucy doing here?
Lord Ralph had not mentioned Lucy. Or
Quintus.
The figures vanished into the Government House.

But Quintus stayed with Harriet. He leapt and barked, and from a window Benjamin saw the beautiful, beautiful girl at last kneel on the Lieutenant-Governor’s lawn and bury her face in the dog’s coat.

*   *   *

Visitors arriving were escorted by footmen and tea was served at once.

Sympathy was expressed to Harriet on her great loss.

Guests took Harriet’s hand, gave formal condolences. Harriet bowed her head, did not speak at all.

Lord Ralph Kingdom bent low over Harriet’s hand, his face haggard. He did not look at her.

Sir Benjamin Kingdom held her hand gently, his grey eyes sombre.

Lucy curtseyed.

The boy, George, was sent to the garden with Quintus; the terrible fate of the
Cloudlight
was discussed by the men in hushed, serious voices in the Lieutenant-Governor’s study that still smelt faintly of the Maori chief. Lucy, in the kitchen, regaled the other servants with her adventures (but did not speak of Annie jumping from the rocks) as they prepared funeral meats; she ignored Peters who sat distraught on a barrel of flour. In the drawing room guests spoke in low voices of the murder, of the difficulties of getting servants in the new colony; cast quick, appraising glances at Miss Harriet Cooper. She soon asked to be excused and went to the room she had been given in Government House.

There she sat, her face blank.

*   *   *

Edward arrived by boat just in time, slipped quickly into the church with his hair smoothed down and his earnest face deeply disturbed; looked in disbelief at the presence of Ralph and Benjamin; stared in distress at his pale cousin, having had as yet no chance at all to speak to her. Miss Eunice Burlington Brown, manoeuvering herself (in becoming black) to Edward’s side in the church, was mortified to see that he looked at her blankly before at last realising who she was and bowing apologetically. The vicar prayed for everlasting life for Sir Charles Cooper.

The small procession, escorted by red-coated soldiers, left the church on the hill and wound upwards to the cemetery at the back of the town. Sir Charles Cooper’s body was carried on a cart. No prancing horses with waving plumes, no lines of carriages of the rich and influential: many of the mourners like Lord Ralph and Sir Benjamin were not even wearing black, having no mourning clothes among their possessions. But all wore black armbands as they toiled upwards. The sky was overcast and grey, the Wellington wind blew softly across the town. Trees on the hills bowed and sighed and the scent of
manuka
hung in the air.

And for some reason Harriet had insisted on attending: it was not at all the thing for a lady to do in these circumstances but none had liked to forbid her, so strange was her manner, so cold and still. Lord Ralph, pale-faced, had finally offered her his arm: she looked at him so blankly, as if she was in a trance, that he drew back; it was Lucy who helped Harriet over the uneven earth tracks to the burial ground. (Benjamin suddenly remembered the small, desolate figure in the chapel at Highgate Cemetery, forbidden to follow her sister to her grave, and his heart contracted, understanding now that desolation.)

The Maori chief and several of his men stood above them as they came up the track: the procession stopped in alarm, the soldiers felt for their guns. But the chief’s head was bowed: finally, at a sign from the Lieutenant-Governor, the procession moved onward to the new grave.

The vicar spoke a few more simple words, the body was lowered into the ground, watched carefully by Harriet. But it was Edward Cooper, not Harriet, who threw some handfuls of earth into the final resting-place of the Right Honourable Sir Charles Cooper, MP.

In the distance could be heard the eerie sound of wailing of native women.

*   *   *

Tea was served at Government House, and plates of food.

The drawing room was crowded with people: Harriet suddenly could not breathe, escaped to the garden. The boy George was there with Quintus who, seeing Harriet, ran towards her, barking, looking up at her face. He seemed almost to be smiling. George too watched Harriet for a moment as she stood looking at the sea, calming her breathing. He had heard the people talking. Then he said:

‘Did your father die, lady?’

For a moment she did not answer him. George tried again, most persistently. ‘Lady, did your father die?’

‘Yes!’
Harriet let out a long, long breath at last. ‘Yes. Yes. Yes. My father died.’

‘My father died. And my mother. Did you cry, lady?’

Harriet shifted focus at last: looked at his scrubbed and anxious face.

‘I did cry,’ she said. ‘When my sister died. But that was a long time ago.’

Quintus stood between them listening, his ears cocked.

‘My good friend has told me not to cry and to be a man and not to think about dying but in the night I think of them.’

‘You cannot help it,’ said Harriet gently. ‘You cannot help remembering.’

George spoke very fast. ‘They did drowned in the water and there was screaming and waves and the waves went over me and my mother held on to me and I can read now but I want to see my mother before I go to heaven where she is, I want my mother now, I heard her screaming in the water and I ain’t never going in the water again.’

The Lieutenant-Governor was at her side. ‘Now, young George, off you go and play, do not bother Miss Cooper today,’ and he took Harriet’s arm firmly, moving her away from the boy and the dog. ‘A little walk around the garden,’ he said determinedly, and for a moment or two they walked in silence.

‘You see the remains of our roses,’ he said at last. ‘But I fear it is a long way from England, all the same. You will be glad, my dear, to be Home again after such terrible tribulations.’ She did not answer.

‘But my dear Harriet, out of sadness joy sometimes comes. It is with great pleasure that I have understood that Lord Ralph Kingdom wishes to speak to you.’ Harriet stopped walking. Surely,
surely,
Lord Ralph Kingdom, here with his brother, and somehow her maid, and her dog, would not speak to her again of marriage? Had he not told them she had refused him? She took a deep, trembling breath, and reminded herself that, for the first time in her life, she was free.

I will not marry.

I will not go back.

‘I just want you to know,’ continued the Lieutenant-Governor, encouraging her to walk on, ‘that my wife and I will of course do everything in our power to assist you in any of your arrangements. This has been a quite dreadful time for you; that your father should have been caught up in the difficulties we are experiencing here is most terrible and I cannot say how distressed I am at the turn of events. I shall remember always the look of pride and affection upon his face when you played the piano for us, only yesterday. Ah my dear, my dear. You will, of course, need someone to look after you.’ He sighed and shook his head. ‘In the end they are uncivilised, the natives – primitive, savage and malign. I believe they have been provoked by the foolish actions of a minority of the settlers, but that of course is no excuse. We believe we have found the perpetrators, who will be summarily dealt with; there will be executions of course.’

‘It was the Maoris who killed my father?’

‘I am sure so, but unfortunately we cannot identify the gun. Your father was killed with a bullet from a pistol. It is regrettably true that there is trade with the natives in firearms – but muskets, not pistols. We do not sell pistols to natives. The native chief – whom I believe to be an honourable man, on his own terms of course – tells me he knows of no pistols. But of course black-market trading goes on all the time and we will find the gun, and so the murderers.’

‘It was definitely the Maoris?’ She kept getting odd flashes in her mind, Piritania holding her as she wept, the smell of the oil in her hair.

‘My dear Miss Cooper, we are in a primitive, barbarous land, but we are men of England. Who would kill someone like your father, if not a native? They were looking for trouble last night. The old chief insists they were merely gathered at the back of the town in support of his speech, and it is true, I have learnt from experience, that there is a certain
theatricality,
sometimes, about their formalities. He said they were all there because they had planned a big gathering of their own later in the evening, but I have it on good authority that the
pas
were empty, on both sides of town.’ Again the Lieutenant-Governor sighed. ‘Ah – forgive me, my dear, this is men’s talk. But I wanted to assure you, Miss Cooper, that every effort will be made to bring the killers to their maker and all the reports that go to London on the
White Princess
will, of course, tell how your father died in support of his country while with his beloved daughter. And if, after such sadness, you are to leave New Zealand with the prospects of joy, my wife and I will be delighted.’

Handsome, debonair and pale, Lord Ralph Kingdom was striding towards them, across the grass: in this public place, on the day of her father’s funeral, she could do nothing but allow him to lead her down the lawn.

*   *   *

They sat on a bench, overlooking the harbour. Above them, on the flagpole that usually intimated ships’ arrivals, the Union Jack flew at half-mast. Occasionally it was caught by the wind, flapped against the pole.

From the drawing-room window they could be seen in the distance. Benjamin, making polite conversation with the Lieutenant-Governor’s old aunt, moved away from the windows. But the aunt, a rather grand lady of much social pretension (who thought Sir Benjamin Kingdom most marvellously presentable and hoped he would stay for the good of the new colony’s many unattached young ladies), was nevertheless enthralled at the prospect of a proposal going on under her nose and kept observing, during her conversation with Sir Benjamin, the couple under the flagpole. They had been there for some time: they seemed not to be speaking a great deal; Lord Ralph did not seem to look at Miss Cooper, he looked rather at the sea and the hills.

*   *   *

Lord Ralph Kingdom’s tone was formal and cold as he stared outwards.

‘I presume, Miss Cooper, that you have not changed your mind.’

‘I am sorry, Lord Kingdom, for your long journey and I am conscious of the honour you do me. But as I told you last night, I could not marry you. Nothing has changed.’ She made as if to rise but his hand detained her even though he did not look at her.

‘Nevertheless they think I am proposing to you now so we shall have to use up the time. People have been informed that I came to New Zealand to propose to you, and propose I must. It is not known by anyone but my brother that I was ashore last night.’