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Authors: Judy Corbalis

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‘New Zealand is very far off, and she has many demands on her time.’

‘I am sure that is so, and Sir William’s speech was most gracious and profound. All the chiefs feel great happiness for the Governor’s success.’

There was a silence. I searched for something to say. ‘The 58th look very colourful.’

‘It is true they are very pretty in their red and white uniforms, but these they wear also in battle. I fear they do not understand the benefits of concealment. When they are fighting, it is very easy for our warriors to see them, even from great distances. This is a grave error in warfare.’

We stood uneasily for a moment. In the distance, I saw Lucy waving to me. ‘Please excuse me,’ I said. ‘My sister wants me to join her.’

He nodded, and I walked away.

Because I was so cast down by the death of my mother, kind Mr Hadfield took me with him to Auckland for a ceremony of grand magnificence in which Te Kawana became a very paramount chief of Mata Wikitoria. And with him were two Maori rangatira — on his one side, Tamati Waka Nene, and on his other, Te Puni. Carrying their taiaha, as befitted great rangatira, they wore long ceremonial feather cloaks over their flax kilts, and their topknots were stuck with combs and precious huia feathers. From their earlobes hung large pieces of pounamu, and each chief had a jade hei-tiki tied about his neck. I knew better than to stare at the glittering eyes of those hei-tiki. Or at the chiefs or their moko. I watched them secretly from the sides of my eyes.

I gazed a little longer at Te Kawana. This was the first time I had properly seen him. Over his white soldier’s clothing of the army of Kuini Wikitoria was a thick red cloak, so heavy he was obliged to walk like a stiff wooden carving. How stupid, I thought, for a soldier to wear white garments. And so tight against his body. How can he move in battle? As he went forward, his sword clanked loudly at his side and the plumage on his large white helmet fluttered. I have never seen such feathers here in Aotearoa. They must be from a bird of Mata Wikitoria.

There was much clapping and some cheering but no dancing and no singing. Even the speeches of the orators were short and did not roll sonorously from their mouths. This surprised me greatly, though I did not say so later to Mr Hadfield. As he walked in the procession, in his clergyman’s suit with the white band at his throat like a tui’s marking, he seemed to me more noble and dignified than any of the other Pakeha present.

 

I gazed around from the seat where Mr Hadfield had left me. The Maori wahine there were chieftainesses; all had moko kauae, and I could smell the sweet scent of the titoki oil they had used to dress their hair. Some of them wore patterned flax anklets and precious ancestral kiwi-feather cloaks. I felt their scornful eyes upon me, their disdain at my poor simple Pakeha dress. They do not know, I thought, that I am the equal of them all, that my mother was a high-born princess. I thought of how, so long ago, I had been promised to the grandson of Waka Nene, and I lowered my eyes down, down … then turned away to look at the Pakeha women.

Their dresses were very beautiful, it is true, but how could they walk about in such garments? At the waist, they were held in so rigidly I could not see how they could breathe freely, and beneath and around their armpits large damp patches stained the fabric of their clothing. I should like a dress of this coloured material, I told myself, but not fashioned into such a shape. My own garment was a Mission frock, plain and simple, designed, so said Mr Hadfield, for modesty and concealment, not adornment. ‘Te Ariki,’ said Mr Hadfield, often, ‘wishes us to be humble and self-effacing.’ But, as I looked about me at the Pakeha, I could not see that any of them, but for Mr Hadfield, displayed such humbleness. I turned towards the stage where Te Kawana and the others were seated, and watched as the people began to surge towards it. Two pretty Pakeha wahine stood smiling together near Te Kawana.

‘The dark-haired lady,’ said Mr Hadfield, appearing beside me, ‘is Te Kawana’s wife, and the other, the fair one, her sister.’

I stared at them. They are like day and night, I thought, light and shadow.

And, as I watched, I saw the dark one run forward and reach up to place her mouth against her husband’s cheek. And I saw, too, how he did not bend towards her but turned away, towards Waka Nene.

 

He does not care for her, I thought. And the maggot of ambition hatched in me.

 

‘Come, Makareta,’ said Mr Hadfield, ‘we must offer our congratulations to Te Kawana.’

Conscious of the poverty of my dress, I walked forward slowly beside him. We stopped at the foot of the red platform and I followed him as he stepped up to the throne on which sat Te Kawana. Mr Hadfield bowed and kissed his proffered hand. ‘My warmest congratulations, Sir George.’

I said nothing but sank down into the curtsey my mother had long ago taught me. I went to rise but, before I could do so, Te Kawana stood and, taking my hand, drew me to my feet. I remained silent, my head politely lowered until, just as he released my hand, and only for a single moment, I looked full into his eyes, then away again. I felt my heart beat faster; my body seemed on fire. For the first time, I was swept by the blaze of passion. I looked at Te Kawana again and felt his gaze lock with mine. I had snared him in my net.

My head still bent, I walked from the platform behind Mr Hadfield, looking neither right nor left as he greeted his many assembled Maori and Pakeha friends. I wished to be invisible to the eye of the mighty Waka Nene. I did not want him to recognise in me the bride long ago promised to his grandson …

And I was afraid lest that good man, Mr Hadfield, had observed me and had understood the wicked workings of my heart. He said nothing, but three days later, when we returned to Otaki and he led the household at evening worship, he did not pray as usual but read to us from the Holy Bible of Te Ariki and, as he spoke, I felt his eyes burning into my stirring flesh.

Mr Hadfield’s face was very solemn. ‘We shall listen carefully to the Word of the Lord,’ he said, ‘then reflect upon our own sins.’ And, in the voice of an orator, he began to read.
‘And the Lord God caused a deep sleep to fall upon Adam and he slept: and he took one of his ribs, and closed up the flesh instead thereof; and the rib, which the Lord God had taken from man, made he a woman, and brought her unto the man. And Adam said, This is now bone of my bones, and flesh of my flesh: she shall be called Woman, because she was taken out of Man. Therefore shall a man leave his father and his mother, and shall cleave unto his wife: and they shall be one flesh. And they were both naked, the man and his wife, and were not ashamed.

‘Now the Serpent was more subtle than any beast of the field which the Lord God had made. And he said unto the woman, Yea, hath God said, ye shall not eat of every tree of the garden? And the woman said unto the Serpent, We may eat of the fruit of the trees of the garden: but of the fruit of the tree which is in the midst of the garden, God hath said, ye shall not eat of it, neither shall ye touch it, lest ye die. And the Serpent said unto the woman, ye shall not surely die.’

I stared at the earth floor beneath my feet and thought of Te Kawana and how he had raised me up. I could not lift my eyes to Mr Hadfield’s but I knew that he peered into the hidden corners of my soul …

‘The Serpent beguiled me, and I did eat.’

 

I did not dare to ask Mr Hadfield, so I questioned my brother, Hone. ‘How might we recognise a serpent? We have no snakes here in Aotearoa. How could we know the form of such a creature?’

He looked at me, puzzled. ‘Since there are none here, how should I know? But I believe they may be thick as rope, and scaly, and have pointed tails and toothless heads with evil, poisonous fangs. And that their eyes resemble the Devil’s.’

 

Now, every night it seemed, Mr Hadfield returned to reading from the Book of Genesis at evening prayers. ‘I hope you are heeding carefully the Word of God, Hone and Makareta,’ he said, and we bent our heads, murmuring in assent. ‘
And when the woman saw that the tree was good for food, and that it was pleasant to the eyes, and a tree to be desired to make one wise,’
read Mr Hadfield,
‘she took of the fruit thereof, and did eat, and gave also unto her husband with her; and he did eat. And the eyes of them both were opened, and they knew that they were naked; and they sewed fig leaves together, and made themselves aprons. And they heard the voice of the Lord God walking in the garden in the cool of the day: and Adam and his wife hid themselves from the presence of the Lord God amongst the trees of the garden.

And Mr Hadfield looked at me sorrowfully. But he said nothing.

‘Your sister said I should find you on the veranda, Miss Thompson. May I join you?'

‘Certainly.'

Lieutenant Cowan settled himself in a chair. ‘I saw you at the investiture but only from a distance. Such a magnificent ceremony. I felt it embodied all the finest elements of Empire. It makes one realise one's great fortune in being born British.'

‘I—'

‘And the gracious way in which the Governor permitted the Maoris to participate underlines the importance of British colonisation in bringing civilisation to the disadvantaged native races.'

He spoke with such complete self-assurance I felt annoyance rising in me. ‘Perhaps they are even more disadvantaged by those unscrupulous British colonists who illegally seize their lands.'

The Lieutenant looked at me in surprise. ‘I … well, as to that, I'm sure they may look to the British rule of law for restitution.'

We were silent for a few moments, then he said, ‘I confess I'm surprised, Miss Thompson. I had not formed the opinion that you were quite so … frank in your views.'

‘I lay no claim to having views,' I said, ‘but I am on the side of justice and honour.'

‘I applaud your sentiments but we must remember that the Maoris, like all inferior native races, are savages at heart and in the greatest need of our wisdom and guidance. Perhaps we should turn our talk to lighter subjects. I understand from Lady Grey that Mr Thomas proposes a picnic tomorrow.'

‘Yes. We intend to ride to the seashore, spread a cloth on the sands and, afterwards, have a gallop.'

‘Lady Grey says Sir George is too occupied with his Polynesian
researches to accompany you, but she suggested I might join your party. Would my presence be acceptable to you?'

‘Certainly,' I said, though I knew now that, however agreeable he might be, on important issues the Lieutenant and I would never be in accord.

 

We picnicked under a pohutukawa. ‘The New Zealand Christmas tree,' said Mr Godfrey. ‘I hope you've catalogued it, Eliza.'

She shook her head.

‘Well, you must begin work again on your plant studies. You're much too talented to neglect them.'

‘I should like to see your drawings, Lady Grey,' said Lieutenant Cowan.

‘I fear you'll be disappointed. Godfrey flatters me.'

‘Not a bit,' said Mr Godfrey. ‘Come, we'll pick some of the lower flowers and you may take them home, draw them and press them.'

‘Perhaps you'd like a walk on the sands, Miss Thompson?' said the Lieutenant. ‘I promised to collect some New Zealand shells and send them to my sister in Bath.'

‘Thank you, but no,' I said. ‘I'm content to stay here and enjoy watching you all.'

The Lieutenant set off to the shoreline, and Lucy and Mr Godfrey moved away to a larger tree in search of more pohutukawa flowers. From where I sat I could see them clearly and noted with unease that he had lain a hand about her shoulders and she had leaned her head against his chest. You're being foolish, I admonished myself. Lucy is his sister-in-law. It's only natural that they should show affection towards each other. And then I saw him place a hand tenderly on her head and twist one of her curls around his finger. She looked up at him. To my horror, I saw him pull her even closer and quickly kiss her.

 

‘Lieutenant Cowan has begged leave from my husband to speak to you, Fanny.'

‘It's kind of the Lieutenant, but I have nothing to say to him.'

‘Fanny, I'm certain he means to propose to you, and Sir George believes he has excellent prospects.'

‘I have entirely no wish to marry him.'

‘But why not? He's handsome, gallant, and much admiring of you. He told my husband you were the finest specimen of womanhood he had ever met.'

I groaned.

‘Then is it because you're tired of Auckland? That you don't want to marry him and be trapped here forever? But he'll be certain to be posted Home before too long, Sir George says.'

‘It is not that at all. Auckland suits me exceedingly well. I've never been happier.'

Lucy clutched my arm. ‘Then promise me, Fanny dearest, that you'll never leave me. Say you'll stay here forever. If I were to lose you or Godfrey, I … I don't know what I would do. I simply couldn't bear it.'

 

Escaping the progressing summer's heat in the stables, I had just rested my head against Tsarina's comforting flank when I heard whispers. It took me some moments to recognise the voices of Lucy … and Mr Godfrey. Some instinct made me decide not to reveal myself, and I moved away to press into the dark corner by the hay bales, sparing them any embarrassment at my unexpected presence.

My eyes growing accustomed to the gloom, I saw that they were standing very close together at the farther end of the stables. As I watched, I quite distinctly saw Mr Godfrey clasp Lucy to him and kiss her fervently, then saw her return his kiss with equal ardour. So what I had witnessed on the picnic had not been merely a foolish moment of indiscretion. She is in grave danger, I thought. If Sir George should discover their dalliance, it is
she
who will be blamed, not his brother.

 

I was greatly relieved when, several weeks later, Lucy sought me out with news that clearly delighted her.

‘My husband has said you and I may travel with him to New
Plymouth. We leave shortly on the government brig. There! What do you think of that?'

‘Will Mr Godfrey be travelling with us?'

‘No, alas. He has business in Wellington.'

I thought quickly. ‘I'm afraid,' I said, ‘that I've promised to help Lady Martin at the hospital. I can't disappoint her.'

Lucy looked downcast. ‘But I'm sure she'll understand.'

‘No,' I said. ‘I'll wait until the next voyage. You won't be away for long, and it will be good for the Governor to have your society to himself.'

 

They had barely been gone when I received a letter. It was evening before it was delivered so I took it with me to my bedroom.

New Plymouth

Feb. 10th, 1849

My Dearest Fanny

                     
You will be surprised to hear from me so soon but the government brig which brought us here is carrying this letter back to Auckland. You have missed a most unpleasant adventure. Here in NP there is no harbour and at times a heavy surf, and the day we arrived it was very violent. We were lifted into the little boat and proceeded towards the shore. Just as we neared the surf we were assured it was ‘all right', though I felt all was wrong, and the next minute we were in the surf, and in another, the boat filled and we were drenched. The boat capsized and fortunately remained on its side, for had we been thrown out, we should certainly have been drowned. As it was we escaped with the thorough wetting of ourselves and our baggage …

I put aside the letter and drifted off to sleep in the close February heat. I dreamed not of the ocean and shipwrecks but of the Minang, clutching their wooden spears, their naked bodies decorated with white clay and ochre, dancing about their crackling bonfire with shrieks and yells. So vivid was my dream that the smell of suffocating smoke and heat woke me. Still half-asleep, I realised that the odour
of burning was not an illusion but a reality.

Flinging apart the shutters, I saw a great orange light in the night sky. Panicked, I stepped outside onto the veranda, where I saw that shafts of flame engulfed the western end of Government House. I raced into my room, snatched up the brooch of Mama's likeness, then seized from Lucy's bedroom a lock of Baby Georgie's hair and a keepsake of her papa, all of which I threw as far as I might from the veranda onto the lawn.

The servants, I thought suddenly, and began shouting, ‘Fire! Fire!' From far off, I heard the constant tolling of a bell. Someone in the settlement had seen the conflagration; help must surely be on its way. Of Johnson, Ingrams or the stable lad, I could see no sign. Calling their names, I beat upon Johnson's door. She stumbled forth.

‘Flee into the garden,' I cried. ‘The house is ablaze.'

Ingrams now appeared, clad in his nightshirt.

‘The stable lad?'

‘'E be wi' his brother at Barracks.'

‘Then we must release the horses at once.'

The fire had taken hold of the entire western part of the house, and Johnson was already occupied in tossing chairs and small objects of furniture into the gardens.

‘Stables be too near to blaze, Ma'am,' said Ingrams, panting at my elbow, his voice almost inaudible above the roar of the flames.

‘But the horses—'

‘Ma'am, they be lost.'

Throwing aside my shawl, clad only in my shift, I sped to the stables, the heat almost forcing me back as I approached. The fire had not caught hold of the building, but it could not be long before the dry wood was aflame. Within, the terrified horses crashed and stamped. Fumbling, my fingers numb, I managed to unbolt one of the stable doors. Lucy's horse, Blaze, came stampeding out, knocking me down in his desperation. I rolled to one side, just in time to avoid being trampled by my own Tsarina, Sir George's stallion, Nelson, Mr Godfrey's gelding, Wager, and the tiny pony, Midget. But as I scrambled to my feet, a shard of burning wood fell from the roof onto the straw; I felt a scorching pain in my shoulder, the sear of a flame at my back. And, as I screamed for help, I saw swirling towards
me through the smoke the phantom of my nightmares, the demon figure from long ago in Rio.

 

I awoke I knew not where, my left shoulder and my feet burning and throbbing, and looked into the face of Te Toa.

‘Government House is entirely destroyed,' he said.

For some minutes, I could not understand him.

‘There was a fire,' he said, ‘but now all is well.'

‘The house, you say, is—'

‘Ruined. But what is a house compared with the lives of people and horses?'

‘I can't quite … my feet … my shoulder …'

‘They have put leaves and healing herbs on your wounds.'

‘Am I at Lady Martin's hospital?'

‘No, I have brought you to Waimate, to the Mission House.'

BOOK: A Crooked Rib
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