Robert saw himself out.
D
ECEMBER
1864
Isla’s leg had been out of plaster for seven days. Doctor Sillitoe had intended to remove the cast three weeks before that, but
had decided to leave it on to make absolutely sure that the bone had mended. When the cast had come off, on the last day of November, along with layers and layers of old, dead skin, the smell had been revolting. Eleanor Fairweather had drawn a bath in front of the fire and Isla had luxuriated in it until the water had gone cold, scrubbing and scrubbing at the fresh new skin.
She had been walking without the crutches for several days now, and although it still hurt a little when she put weight on her leg, and the muscles were badly wasted and the bone itself slightly crooked, she thought it had healed reasonably well.
Isla had just finished brushing her hair—long enough now to tie back—when Hope knocked and opened the bedroom door.
‘Ye look pleased wi’ yesel’,’ Isla said.
Hope sat on the bed, unable to stop herself from grinning. ‘Yes, I am, actually.’ She glanced meaningfully at the window.
Isla pulled back the curtains: it was dark, but she could see that Chisolm was busy backing the horses into the shafts of Mrs Fair-weather’s trap. ‘Going oot, are ye?’
Hope’s grin grew even wider. ‘No,
we’re
going out. You and I.’
‘Oh, aye?’ Isla said disbelievingly. ‘And where are we going at this hour?’ It was after eight o’clock.
‘It’s a surprise. But you have to get dressed in all your old clothes.’ Hope was bouncing up and down now, unable to contain herself.
‘So we’re no’ going tae a ball then?’ Isla joked.
‘No, better than that!’ Hope crossed the room and grasped
Isla’s hands. ‘You’re going back, Isla! You’re going back to find Jean and Jamie! So hurry up and pack your bag—the ship’s sailing soon!’
Isla stood completely still, not quite comprehending what she was hearing. ‘Tae find Jean and Jamie? I’m allowed tae leave?’
‘Yes to the first question, no to the second. You’re not allowed to leave, but you are anyway. Robert’s arranged it all.’ Hope pulled Isla over to the wardrobe and flung open the door. ‘But you have to hurry up. So come on, get your things together!’
Isla threw her few possessions into her peke, then yanked her nightgown off over her head and stepped into her skirt and pulled on her blouse. She tugged on her boots, but her hands were shaking so badly that she couldn’t tie the laces.
‘Where’s Private Page?’
‘Snoring in front of the kitchen fire.’
‘He’s no’ a verra good guard, is he?’
‘No, fortunately for us. If he were one of Papa’s men, Papa would have his guts for garters. Do you have everything? Are you ready?’
Isla glanced around the room, then nodded and slung the peke over her shoulder.
Hope cautiously opened the door and peered out into the hallway. ‘When you hear me tap on the window, come outside to the trap. But
don’t
let anyone see you, all right?’
Isla had a sudden thought. ‘But I need tae say goodbye tae your mam. And Prudence.’ Faith and Charity, she had decided, could go to Hell.
Hope shook her head emphatically. ‘You can’t. She doesn’t know.’
‘But—’
‘And she
can’t
know. Papa is an officer, Isla—I’m sorry, but Mama can’t be seen to have anything to do with you absconding. Now, wait here until I signal.’
She hurried outside, and Isla heard her telling Chisolm she would finish harnessing the horses, and to go and put his feet up.
Then came the tap on the window. Isla crept down the hallway, out onto the verandah and across the yard to the trap, slinging her peke onto the rear seat. ‘What aboot Laddie?’
‘I’ll get him,’ Hope said. ‘You wait here.’
In a few minutes, she was back with the dog, who let out a single excited bark before Isla shushed him, and another bag, which she tossed into the trap. ‘More clothes,’ Hope explained.
‘I’ve got claes,’ Isla said as she climbed in, taking care not to put all her weight on her weakened leg.
‘Yes, but you’re going to need these, too. I’ve got you a shirt, a hat, trousers and a jacket. So you don’t have to go around “borrowing” things from soldiers again.’
‘Why do I need all that?’
‘You’ll see,’ Hope replied enigmatically as she took her seat, wedged Laddie between them, and flicked the reins so the horses started down the carriageway.
She turned left and set off down Parnell Road. The moon was full but partly obscured by clouds scudding across the sky,
and, despite the urgency, Hope dared not drive too fast for fear of hitting pot holes or wheel ruts. Isla perched anxiously on the edge of the seat, visions in her head of Private Page awakening from his stupor and pursuing them along the roads of Auckland, shouting and brandishing his musket.
But the further down Parnell Road they travelled without incident, the more she relaxed. Eventually she was able to sit back and ask, ‘Why are ye doing this, Hope? Will ye no’ get intae trouble?’
Hope was silent for some time, watching the road and keeping a tight grip on the reins. They both jumped as Laddie barked at a shadow.
‘Because it’s high time I started showing some mettle,’ she said finally. ‘And because it’s not right that you should be kept here against your will. You’re not a spy, Isla: I know that, never mind what Major Blainey thinks. You’re just…you.’ She looked at Isla. ‘Aren’t you?’
‘Aye, it’s all I’ve ever been. And I’m so verra glad that you’re
you
, Hope. Thank ye.’
Hope gave a small nod and turned back to the road. At the bottom of the long hill, she followed the road around until they were approaching the waterfront, and a short while later they reached Queen Street wharf. Hope helped Isla down and collected the bags.
She said suddenly, ‘I envy you, Isla. I envy the things you’ve already done and the life you’re going to have.’
‘Come wi’ me, then.’
Hope shook her head. ‘I can’t, Isla. I’m not you.’
They stared at each other for a long moment, then embraced fiercely. Then, with Laddie padding beside them, they hurried along the long pier, their boots tapping hollowly on the boards, taking care not to trip over anything in the dim moonlight. Beneath the wharf the sea lapped gently, telling Isla that the tide was almost fully in. At the far end, a shadowed figure stood before the silhouette of a cutter, its sails furled but with plenty of activity on deck; as they neared, the figure revealed itself to be Robert, dressed, for the first time since Isla had met him, in nondescript civilian clothes.
He squinted, then blew out his cheeks in relief. ‘Thank God, I thought you were going to be too late. They’re almost ready to go.’
On cue, a tug backed out of the darkness and slowly approached the bow of the cutter. A moment later ropes were thrown from one vessel to the other and the cutter settled as the slack was taken up.
‘Did you get away all right?’ Robert asked Hope.
‘Yes.’ Her face was unreadable beneath the shadow of her bonnet.
‘You managed to get the clothes?’
Hope held up one of the bags.
‘Good.’ Robert turned to Isla. ‘You have to board now. The captain doesn’t know who you are or why you’ve been in Auckland, and said he didn’t care so long as the price was right.’
He took her arm and led her up the gangway, Hope close
behind. Laddie trotted past them, and straight over to a covered pen in the middle of the deck. Hearing a familiar nicker, Isla followed and was speechless with delight to see Prince, his neck extended over the top rail, already looking for a treat.
She turned to Robert to thank him, but her throat was so tight with emotion that all that came out was a squeak. Instead, she stepped up and leaned into him, and a second later felt his arms fold hesitantly around her.
‘Thank ye,’ she whispered. ‘Thank ye so much.’
She felt him nod, then he stepped away and stood beside Hope. ‘Your saddle’s already been stowed, and your shotgun. The captain will drop you at Tauranga, so you’ll have to ride from there. It’s the best I could do.’
Isla said in a very wobbly voice, ‘I’ll never forget ye, Robert. I’ll never forget what ye’ve done for me.’
‘I don’t want you to,’ he replied gruffly. ‘I won’t forget you either, Isla McKinnon. I hope you find your brother and sister.’
And then he and Hope turned and walked back down the gangway, to wait on the pier as the cutter, creaking and groaning, moved out into the darkness of the harbour.
B
AY OF
P
LENTY
I
sla kept a warning hand on Laddie’s neck as, from her vantage point on the hill, she watched the men move across the tussock below, heading south-west. They were kupapa, she was sure—the erratic assortment of British military clothing and kit they wore over their kilts, trousers and maro told her that. Arawa? she wondered. She was well inland from the coast now, and into Arawa territory, and didn’t know of any other hapu or iwi in the area who might be Queenites.
Behind her, concealed in a stand of bush, Prince stamped and noisily blew air out through his nostrils. She murmured in a low voice to calm him, confident that her voice would not travel on the wind. When she looked again, the taua had almost disappeared, the last stragglers fading behind a stand of stunted manuka. The
air here was somehow sharper than it had been on the coast, and the breeze strong. Higher up, she felt it in her lungs, and there was a metallic, acrid taint to the wind.
It had taken her a week to reach this place, travelling as she had along narrow ridges and down into densely forested valleys to avoid the more frequently used coastal tracks and long expanses of beach she had traversed last time. Things had changed while she had been in Auckland, and the Bay of Plenty, from Maketu to Opotiki, was no longer a safe area for those who opposed the Crown.
She squinted at the orange sun hovering just above the western horizon: it was time to set up camp for the night. Because of the proximity of the taua, she decided against a fire, and settled down in the shelter of a thicket of toetoe to eat the roasted remains of the birds she and Laddie had trapped that morning. She was thirsty, too, but had almost emptied her canteen. In the morning, she would have to find a source of water. She unlaced her boots, but didn’t remove them, and methodically rubbed at her right shin and calf muscle to ease the ache there. If she walked for too long, the pain began to bite, so she rode whenever she could. But every day, she thought, her leg was getting stronger, although she wondered whether it would ever be properly straight again.
Before the light had completely gone from the sky, she reached into her peke and withdrew the envelope she had discovered when she’d first taken out the clothing that Hope had given her. Inside had been a letter. Since then, she had read it every night, grateful for its power to reduce the loneliness she’d frequently felt over
the past week. Living at the Fairweather house, she had almost forgotten what it was to be alone. Laddie and Prince were staunch and loyal companions, she was always grateful for that, but they were poor conversationalists.
Dear Isla,
I know that you are leaving us, and that you will have gone by the time you read this. Hope may think that she is adept at keeping a secret from her mother, but she is not. I knew that she and Robert were planning something, just as I knew when I realized what it was that I could not be included. I’d like you to know that if my husband were not who he is, I would happily have helped. I hope you understand.
I am sorry that two of my daughters have been less than ideal hostesses during your stay with us; but I like to think that Hope and Prudence, and I, in some small way, helped to make it bearable for you. When I was a child in England, I almost managed to tame a vixen that would regularly appear in our back garden to eat the food I put out for her. What she didn’t eat she would take away—to feed to her cubs, I suspect. She was a lovely thing, small and wild and very determined, and you remind me very much of her, Isla. I often wonder what happened to her, as I will always wonder how you have fared.
Robert was in love with you, you know, but I doubt that he ever told you that. He never told me, either; but I knew it. I saw it in his eyes every time he came here, to the house. He would have made you a good husband. He will never make a good husband for Charity—I doubt that any man alive will—but I have a small but growing aspiration that he will come to see in Hope at least a little of what
he saw in you. She has changed so much since you have been with us—she has blossomed—and for that I thank you from the bottom of my heart.Wherever and whenever your journey ends, I wish you all the love and luck that you deserve. I pray that you find your brother and sister, and that, one day, you may make peace in your heart with each of the losses you have had to endure. Take care, Isla, and may God be with you.
Yours with sincerest affection,
Eleanor Fairweather
Isla folded the letter carefully, slipped it back into its envelope and lay down next to Laddie, her knees tucked against his warm back.
They had been on the move the next morning for less than an hour when Laddie’s hackles rose and he started to growl. Isla reined Prince to a halt and looked quickly around, searching for signs that they might not be alone. And then she noticed it, cursing herself for her lack of vigilance. There was no birdsong; the bush was almost silent. Her immediate thought was of danger, that she should turn and bolt, but then she did hear something: the click of a hammer being cocked.
She sat very still, the seconds stretching into minutes until, finally, a figure stepped out of the bush. He carried a shotgun, its barrel pointed directly at her. She couldn’t be sure, but suspected
he might be one of the taua she had seen yesterday. He made the sound of a kereru, and three more men emerged from the undergrowth. Laddie growled again, and in less than a second a gun had been trained on him.
‘Stay, Laddie,’ Isla warned almost inaudibly, her heart hammering violently.
The man gestured with his gun: ‘Makere.’
Isla looked at him, and at his companions, and knew she had little choice. She did as he’d ordered, slid down out of the saddle, stood beside Prince and waited.
One of the men took her shotgun from the saddle holster, broke it open and removed the cartridges.
The first man stepped forward. ‘Ko wai to ingoa? No hea koe?’
Isla knew that there was little point to pretending that she was a lost settler now, not with the kauae so prominent on her chin. ‘Ko Isla McKinnon taku ingoa,’ she replied, although she omitted to tell him to whom she belonged.
‘Kei hea to kainga?’
Isla answered vaguely, ‘Kei Taranaki.’
The man slowly lowered his gun, but his eyes never moved from hers. He wasn’t much taller than she was, but very powerfully built, the muscles evident beneath the sleeveless shirt he wore. His broad chest was criss-crossed by a leather bandolier with several ammunition pouches, and a thick belt held up a blanket that had been wrapped around his waist as a kilt. He was a handsome man, his skin quite dark and the whites of his eyes and his teeth very
bright in contrast. On his short, black hair he wore the peaked forage cap of an officer. Lines radiated out from his eyes and his brow looked permanently furrowed, and Isla presumed him to be at least in his thirties. He clearly commanded great mana.
‘Then you are a long way from home,’ he said in English.
‘Aye, I’m on ma way tae Opotiki.’
‘Ah, a Highlander!’
Isla didn’t respond, disconcerted by the speed with which he had placed her accent. His expression was one of arrogant amusement, and she felt like reaching out and slapping him.
‘What is your business there?’
‘I’m looking for ma brother and sister.’
The man smiled, but rather unpleasantly. ‘I know your kauae, and therefore your whakapapa. Not kupapa but Kingite, I presume?’
Again Isla said nothing.
‘Kingite, then. I, Te Whaenga of the iwi Te Arawa, therefore take you prisoner. And I will have your horse. The dog I do not want. Potiki?’
Potiki raised his gun and took aim at Laddie. Isla immediately hurled herself at him, taking the man by surprise. He staggered and fell to one knee; Isla kicked his flank as hard as she could, an instant before one of the others dragged her away. Ignoring the pain in her weakened leg, she spun and launched herself at him, her forehead connecting solidly with his nose. Bellowing with rage he hit out, but Isla had already retreated and was crouching next to Laddie, her arms wrapped around his neck, trying to keep control of him.
Te Whaenga laughed, although his men looked less than amused, particularly the one with the bleeding nose. ‘Very good! I like a woman with mettle! And the dog may live for being so loyal!’ he declared, obviously highly entertained.
And he strode over, kicked Laddie viciously and dragged Isla up by her hair. He passed her to Potiki, who held her with her arms bent behind her back: Laddie darted after her, eliciting a nervous look from her captor, and pressed himself against her legs, his whole body quivering with hostility.
Te Whaenga took Prince’s reins and launched himself athletically into the saddle, where he sat for a moment, looking very pleased with himself. Prince’s ears went back, his eyes rolled and he gave an almighty buck: Te Whaenga flew into the air, then crashed down onto the unforgiving pommel of the saddle. Prince immediately lowered his head, causing Te Whaenga to slide slowly and inelegantly down his neck until he was forced to let go and land on the ground with as much grace as he could salvage. Isla knew it would be more than her life was worth to laugh, but she was delighted to note that Te Whaenga didn’t look nearly so full of himself now.
He stooped to retrieve his cap and jammed it angrily back on his head. ‘I will deal with the animal later,’ he muttered. To Isla, he said very clearly, ‘Nothing and no one gets the better of me, do you understand? No one.’
They had been walking almost all day. Isla’s arms were aching as they had been tied behind her back for hours, and her leg hummed
with pain. She had stumbled and fallen several times now, and each time she had been hauled back up and prodded until she started forward again, but at least she had Laddie constantly at her side. As he had refused to let anyone else on his back, Prince was being led at the rear of the small procession.
She had asked at intervals where they were going, but no one had answered her. She knew with a sinking heart, however, that they were moving farther inland, away from Opotiki. In the middle of the afternoon she had been given water and a small amount of food, but now the sun was sliding down the sky and it seemed that, if they didn’t reach their destination soon, they would have to set up camp.
When they did, Isla was tied securely to the trunk of a small tree, but this time her hands were bound in front of her, giving her at least a little relief. And she could stretch far enough to rub the throbbing stiffness from her leg, but not to lie down comfortably. Laddie lay beside her, his head on her knee, growling every time anyone approached. She was given more water, but no food. They must be on the homeward leg of their journey, she thought, to be so low on supplies. The two other men, she had gathered, were named Noko and Hoata, and the four were in fact part of the larger taua she had seen pass by the day before.
When it was dark, Te Whaenga came to speak to her. He sat on the ground before her with his legs crossed, and seemed to take an age to fill and light his pipe. In the darkness, his eyes glittered every time he raised them to appraise her. Isla had many questions, but refused to ask any until he opened the dialogue.
Eventually, he did. He took a long pull, puffed out copious smoke, then said, ‘I want to know to whom you belong.’
‘Untie me and I’ll tell ye.’
Te Whaenga smiled, his lips curling around the stem of his pipe. ‘Do you think I am stupid, e hine?’
No, not stupid, but very arrogant, Isla thought speculatively. And certainly not as stupid as she had been, allowing herself to be apprehended a second time, once again so close to the place her heart had convinced her she would find Jean and Jamie.
‘Where are ye taking me?’
‘To my village at Rotoma.’
Isla thought quickly: if she remembered correctly, Rotoma was the last lake in the chain that ran north-east from the large basin of Lake Rotorua. If—
when
—she escaped, she had simply to head directly east to arrive at Opotiki. She had an idea that the route would be mountainous in places, but, providing she kept her bearings, she knew she could manage it.
‘Why?’ she asked.
‘Why what?’
‘Why are ye taking me there?’
‘Because you are a prisoner of Her Majesty the Queen.’
‘No’ as much as ye are yesel’,’ Isla shot back.
Te Whaenga chuckled and shook his head sadly. ‘No, you are mistaken. It is all those who
oppose
the Queen who will eventually become prisoners.’
‘Arawa are traitors,’ Isla declared defiantly. ‘And there is always a price tae pay for that.’
‘I do not think so.’ Te Whaenga leaned forward and tauntingly shook his pipe at her. ‘You look like a woman, but you talk like a silly girl.’ He sat back again. ‘It suits us to be loyal. We have traded with the Pakeha for a long time, and we have had much commercial success. We have flour mills, a flax mill, farms and orchards, and fishing and sailing fleets, and we trade with markets in Auckland and in Sydney town. Why would we wish to disrupt a relationship that works so well for us? And when the Queen is victorious, who will she look to but her loyal subjects, the Arawa! There will
be
no price for us to pay.’
The grin that was becoming so irritatingly familiar spread across his face once again. ‘Ngai Te Rangi have already been defeated. When the same thing happens to Ngati Awa, then our traditional enemies will no longer be of threat to us. What is that Pakeha saying? To kill two birds with one stone?’ He shrugged, as though what he was about to say was of no significance. ‘But not all Arawa are Queenites. There are plenty from the Arawa confederation fighting on the side of Tawhiao.’
Isla hadn’t met any. ‘But what will ye achieve by holding me?’ She tried reasoning with him. ‘I’ll be more trouble than I’m worth.’
‘Oh, I do not think so.’
Isla didn’t like the look on his face at all. It was…
predatory
. ‘How did ye ken where tae find me?’