In the Land of the Long White Cloud (10 page)

Gerald patted Gwyneira lightly on the shoulder and then went off to discuss the shipment of the horses and sheep with her father. Both men had come to a mutually agreeable understanding never to mention the fateful card game again. The lord sent the flock of sheep and the dogs as Gwyneira’s dowry overseas while Lady Silkham framed the engagement with Lucas Warden as an entirely suitable alliance with one of New Zealand’s oldest families. And, in fact, that was true: Lucas’s mother’s parents had been among the very first settlers to the South Island. If people still whispered about it in the salons anyway, it did not reach the lady’s or her daughters’ ears.

Gwyneira would not have cared anyway. She only reluctantly dragged herself to the many tea parties where her supposed “friends” duplicitously celebrated her “exciting” departure, only then to swoon over their own future spouses in Powys or the city. If she had a moment free from visiting, Gwyn’s mother insisted that she give her opinion on cloth samples and then stand for hours modeling for the dressmaker. Lady Silkham had her measured for holiday and afternoon dresses, fussed over elegant traveling clothes, and could hardly believe that Gwyneira would need more light summer dresses than winter apparel. Yet on the other side of the globe, as Gerald tirelessly reminded her, the seasons were indeed reversed.

Additionally, he always had to arbitrate when the “another afternoon dress or third riding dress” fight escalated anew.

“There’s no way,” Gwyneira said, becoming agitated, “that in New Zealand I’ll be passed from one tea party to another like in Cardiff. You said it was a new country, Mr. Warden. Parts of it still unexplored! I won’t need any silk dresses there.”

Gerald Warden smiled at both adversaries. “Lady Gwyneira. At Kiward Station you’ll find the same social structure as you have here, so don’t worry,” he began, although he knew, of course, that it was really Lady Silkham who had reservations. “However, the distances are much greater. The closest neighbor we call on lives forty miles away. So you don’t drop in for afternoon tea. Besides, road construction
there is still in its infancy. For that reason we prefer to ride to visit our neighbors rather than taking a coach. That doesn’t mean, however, that we approach our social contacts in any less civilized a fashion. You merely need to accustom yourself to multiple-day visits since short ones aren’t worthwhile, and clearly you’ll need a corresponding wardrobe.

“By the way, I’ve booked our ship passage. We’ll be leaving for Christchurch from London aboard the
Dublin
on the eighteenth of July. Part of the cargo hold will be prepared for the animals. Would you like to ride out this afternoon to see the stallion, my lady? It seems to me you’ve hardly been out of the dressing room all week.”

Madame Fabian, Gwyneira’s French governess, was worried above all about the dearth of culture in the colonies. She lamented in all the languages available to her that Gwyneira wouldn’t be able to continue her musical education, even though playing the piano was the only skill recognized by society for which the girl demonstrated the least bit of talent. However, Gerald could calm these waters too: naturally, there was a piano in his house; his late wife had played beautifully and had even taught their son how to play. Apparently, Lucas was an exceptional pianist.

Astoundingly, it was Madame Fabian of all people who was able to draw more information out of the New Zealander about Gwyneira’s future spouse. The artistically inclined teacher simply asked the right questions—whenever concerts, books, theaters, and galleries in Christchurch were mentioned, Lucas’s name came up. It appeared that Gwyneira’s fiancé was extremely cultivated and artistically gifted. He painted, played music, and maintained an exhaustive correspondence with British scientists, mostly concerning the ongoing research of New Zealand’s unusual animal kingdom. Gwyneira hoped to share this interest with him, since the depiction of the rest of Lucas’s proclivities seemed almost uncanny. She had expected fewer highbrow activities from the heir to a sheep farm. The cowboys in the penny novels would never have mixed with knights, guaranteed. But perhaps
Gerald Warden was exaggerating. No doubt the sheep baron wanted to depict his home and family in the best light. The reality would be wilder and more exciting! In any case, Gwyneira managed to forget her sheet music when the time finally came to pack her trousseau in chests and suitcases.

Lucinda Greenwood took Helen’s announcement with astounding calm. George, who would be attending college after the summer anyway, no longer needed a tutor, and William…

“As for William, perhaps I’ll look about for somewhat more indulgent help,” she said. “He is still such a child, and one has to take that into account.”

Helen checked herself and forced herself to agree, already thinking about her new little charges on the
Dublin
. Lucinda Greenwood had generously allowed her to extend her Sunday outing to church to meet with the girls in Sunday school. As expected, they were frail, undernourished, and browbeaten. All of them wore clean, gray, oft-patched button-up dresses, but even the oldest, Dorothy, still showed no hint of a woman’s figure beneath her dress. The girl had just turned thirteen and had spent ten years of her short life in the almshouse with her mother. Early on, Dorothy’s mother had had a job, but the girl could no longer remember those days so long ago. She knew only that her mother had eventually gotten sick and then died. She’d been living in the orphanage ever since then. She was scared to death of the journey to New Zealand, but was nevertheless prepared to do anything she could to please her future masters. Dorothy had only first learned to read and write in the orphanage but was trying with all her might to make up for lost time. Helen silently decided to continue teaching her on the ship. She felt sympathy for the delicate, dark-haired girl, who would doubtless grow to be a beauty if she were properly fed and no longer forced to bow and scrape, back bent and cowering like a beaten dog before everyone. Daphne, the next oldest, appeared somewhat braver. She had managed to live alone on the
street for a long time; that she hadn’t been caught stealing but rather found sick and exhausted under a bridge was surely thanks to luck and not innocence. She had been treated strictly in the orphanage. The headmistress seemed to have taken her flaming red hair for an unmistakable sign of a lust for life, even a hunger for life, and punished her for every wanton side-glance. Daphne was the only one of the six girls who had volunteered for the journey overseas. For Laurie and Mary, ten-year-old (at most) twins from Chelsea, that certainly was not the case. Neither was especially bright, though they were well behaved and somewhat skillful, when they could figure out what was being asked of them. Laurie and Mary believed every word the malicious little boys in the orphanage had told them about the dangers of the sea voyage, and they could hardly believe that Helen was making the journey without serious reservations. Elizabeth, on the other hand, a dreamy twelve-year-old with long, blonde hair, thought it romantic to set out on a journey to an unknown husband.

“Oh, Miss Davenport, it’ll be like in the fairy tales!” she whispered. Elizabeth lisped slightly and was constantly teased for it, so she rarely spoke up. “A prince waiting for you! He must be pining away and dreaming of you every night.”

Helen laughed and attempted to extricate herself from the grip of her youngest charge, Rosemary. Rosie was supposedly eleven years old, but Helen put the distraught child at no more than nine. Whoever thought this timid creature was ready to make her own way in the world was beyond comprehension. Until Helen arrived, Rosemary had clung to Dorothy. Now that a friendlier grown-up was present, she switched seamlessly to Helen. She was touched by the feel of Rosie’s tiny hand in her own, but knew she couldn’t encourage the girl’s clinginess; employers had already been found for the children in Christchurch, so she knew she mustn’t feed Rosie’s hope to remain with her after the journey.

Besides, Helen’s own fate was just as uncertain. She still hadn’t heard a word from Howard O’Keefe.

Regardless, Helen prepared a sort of trousseau for herself. She invested what little there was of her savings in two new dresses and
underwear and purchased some linens for her new home. For a small charge, she was allowed to take her beloved rocking chair on the ship, and Helen spent several hours packing it up with care. In order to contain her excitement, she began her preparations for the trip early and was already more or less finished four weeks before the ship was scheduled to depart. She put off the unpleasant task of informing her family of her departure until just before she was to leave. Finally, she could not delay any longer. Their reactions were as she’d expected: Helen’s sister was shocked, her brothers furious. If Helen could no longer provide for their room and board, they would have to seek refuge with Reverend Thorne again. Helen thought that would only do them good and told them so in as many words.

As for her sister, Helen didn’t take her emotional tirade seriously for a second. Susan went on for pages about how much she would miss her sister, and some of the letter’s pages even had tearstains, but Helen knew that these could be traced to John’s and Simon’s student expenses being thrust on her shoulders now.

When Susan and her husband finally came to London “just to talk things over one last time,” Helen didn’t even respond to Susan’s show of grief when they said their farewells. Instead, she pointed out that her move would hardly change anything about their relationship. “We haven’t written to each other much more than twice a year even up to now,” Helen said coldly. “You are busy with your family, and it surely won’t be any different for me.”

If only there was something concrete to make her believe that.

She had received no further word from Howard. However, a week before Helen’s departure, after she’d long since given up lying in wait for the letter carrier every morning, George brought her an envelope covered in many bright stamps.

“Here, Miss Davenport!” he said excitedly. “You can open it immediately. I promise I won’t tattle, and I won’t look over your shoulder. I’ll be playing with William, OK?”

Helen was in the garden with her charges; she had just ended their lessons for the day. William was alone, busy hitting the ball intermittently through the croquet hoops.

“George, you mustn’t say ‘OK,’” Helen chided him out of habit, while reaching with unseemly haste for the letter. “Where did you even learn that word? From those smutty novels the help reads? For heaven’s sake do not leave them lying around. If William…”

“William can’t read,” George interrupted her. “We both know that, Miss Davenport, whatever Mother likes to believe. And I won’t say ‘OK’ again; I promise. Are you going to read your letter now?” The expression on George’s narrow face was unexpectedly serious. Helen had rather expected his usual insinuating smirk.

But what was that supposed to mean? Even if he did inform his mother that she, Helen, was reading private letters during work, in a week she would be at sea, unless…

Helen ripped the letter open with trembling hands. If Mr. O’Keefe no longer showed an interest in her now…

My dearest Miss Davenport
,

Words cannot express how much your lines touched my soul. I have not put your letter down since I received it a few days ago. It accompanies me everywhere, when working on the farm, during my rare trips to the city—whenever I reach for it, I find comfort and an effervescent joy in knowing that somewhere far away a heart beats for me. And I must admit that in the darkest hours of my loneliness I occasionally bring it to my lips. This paper that you have touched, over which your breath has passed, is as sacred to me as the few reminders of my family, which I guard like treasures
.

But how shall we continue? Dearest Miss Davenport, I would like nothing more now than to tell you to come! Let us leave our loneliness behind us. Let us brush away the scurf of despair and darkness. Let us start anew, together!

Here we can hardly wait for the first whiffs of spring to blossom. The grass is beginning to turn green; the trees are beginning to bud. How gladly I would share this sight with you! For that to happen, however, there are more tedious considerations than the flight of burgeoning affection. I would gladly send you the money for the journey, my dear Miss Davenport—oh why not, my dearest Helen! But that will have to wait until my sheep have lambed and the farm’s
earnings this year can be estimated. After all, I do not want to burden our life together with debt right from the beginning
.