Song of the Spirits (17 page)

Like most visitors, William was quite struck by the sight of the manor house set in the middle of the wilderness. He had been rambling along through mostly untouched land, past endless grassy plains, which didn’t look as though they’d been grazed and which were only occasionally interrupted by a rock formation or a small crystal clear lake. And then riding around a bend, he suddenly thought he’d been set
down in rural England. An immaculately tended entry road carefully covered with gravel led through a sort of avenue sown with southern beeches and cabbage trees, and then opened onto a circular flower bed planted with blooming red bushes. Beyond it lay the approach to Kiward Station. That was no farm; that was a palace!

The house had obviously been designed and built by English architects from the gray sandstone typical of the country, which was only used in cities like Christchurch and Dunedin for “monumental buildings.” Kiward Station had two floors, and the facade was enlivened by numerous turrets, oriels, and balconies. The stables could not be seen, but William supposed they were behind the house along with a garden. He had no doubt that this residence had a well-tended landscape garden, perhaps even a rose garden—even if Gwyneira McKenzie had not encouraged the impression that gardening was among her passions. Something like that would appeal more to Kura. William let himself daydream of her, dressed in white with a flower-decorated straw hat, plucking a few roses from the bushes and climbing up the stairs to the house with a basket full of flowers.

But the thought of Kura also brought him back to reality. He couldn’t simply barge his way in here. He would never run into the girl “by accident” on this estate, especially since he knew that Kura was not exactly a nature lover. If she left the house, then surely it would only be to visit the gardens, and those were likely fenced in. Besides, the area was probably swarming with gardeners. The carefully maintained approach alone suggested there must be several of them.

William turned his horse around. He wanted to avoid being seen. Lost in his dismal thoughts, he began to circle the estate from a distance. A farm road led from the manor house to the stables and paddocks, where horses were chewing on the sparse winter grass. William did not turn in that direction, as the danger of meeting people who would ask him what he was doing there seemed too great. Instead, he took a narrow footpath through the grassland and stumbled upon a copse of trees. The southern beeches and the lack of underbrush appeared European, and he was momentarily reminded of England or Ireland. A path that looked more worn by people’s feet than horses’ hooves
wound through the thicket. Full of curiosity, William followed the path.

After rounding a bend, he almost collided with a young woman who seemed as lost in thought as he was. She wore an austere dress, which she’d paired with a small dark hat that made her look older. She made the surreal impression on William of an English governess on her way to church.

The young man halted his horse at the last moment and put on his kindest and most apologetic smile. He would have to quickly think up an excuse for being there.

The woman did not exactly look like a specialist in animal husbandry. Maybe she thought he was one of the workers. William greeted her politely and then added, “Excuse me.” If he simply rode on right away, the woman would no doubt hardly remember him.

At first, she didn’t even lift her head. Only after his apology did she grant him a look. William cursed his upper-class accent. He really ought to try to develop his Irish accent.

“There is no need to apologize. I didn’t notice you either. The paths here are an affront.” The woman made an indignant face but then tried a shy smile. Her pale-blonde hair, pale skin, and gray-blue eyes made her look washed out, and her face was a little long but finely formed. “Can I offer you some assistance? You don’t really mean to be going to visit the Maori?”

The way the woman pronounced the word, one might think she was referring to a tribe of cannibals and that visiting them would be an act of madness. In her plain dark-gray dress and boring black hat, she could have been mistaken for a missionary. She was carrying some sort of songbook under her arm.

William smiled. “No, I wanted to go to Haldon,” he claimed. “But this doesn’t appear to be the right way.”

The woman frowned. “Indeed, you have gotten rather lost. This is the footpath between the Maori camp and Kiward Station. The building behind you is the manor, and you have probably already ridden past the Maori camp, but you cannot see it from the road. Your best option would be to ride back to the house and take the main road.”

William nodded. “How could I go against advice spoken from such charming lips?” he asked gallantly. “But what is a young lady such as yourself doing among the Maori?”

This last point truly did interest him. This woman spoke flawless upper-class English, albeit with a slight twang.

The woman rolled her eyes. “I have been asked to, well, to bring some religion to these savages. The pastor asked me to hold a devotion in the camp on Sundays. Their former teacher, Helen O’Keefe, always did that, and Mrs. Warden continued it.”

“Mrs. Gwyneira Warden?” William asked, surprised, though he risked his cover by doing so. Gwyneira had not struck him as the godly type.

“No, Mrs. Marama Warden. She is Maori herself, but she married again and now lives at O’Keefe Station in the next camp. She runs a school there.” The young lady did not look like the missionary work made her particularly happy. But wait—had she not just mentioned teaching? Could this be Kura Warden’s governess?

William could hardly believe his luck—that is, if the relationship between Kura and her beloved Miss Witherspoon was really as close as the girl had indicated in Queenstown.

“You teach the Maori?” he inquired. “Do you only teach there, or—I hardly dare ask—but Miss Warden spoke very affectionately of a Miss Witherspoon.”

Kura had not actually spoken about her tutor with “affection,” but, at best, with a sense of forced alliance against all the philistines all around them. Regardless, Miss Witherspoon was the only person at Kiward Station with whom Kura enjoyed halfway friendly relations. And the young woman looked like she could use some encouragement.

A wide smile spread over Miss Witherspoon’s strict face. “Really? Kura spoke warmly of me? How do you know Miss Warden?”

The young woman looked at him searchingly, and William worked to assume a contrite and simultaneously waggish expression. Could it really be that Kura had not even mentioned him?

Then Miss Witherspoon seemed to come to her own conclusions.
“Wait a moment. You’re not…?” Miss Witherspoon’s distrustful look gave way to excitement. “But you must be! You are William Martyn, are you not? According to Kura’s description…”

Kura had described William down to the last detail—his blond hair, his dimpled smile, the radiant blue eyes. Miss Witherspoon beamed at him. “How romantic! Kura knew you would come. She simply knew it. She has been dreadfully depressed ever since Mrs. McKenzie was suddenly called back from Queenstown.”

Called back? William realized they had probably not told the governess everything. Even Kura seemed to have confided only a limited amount to her. William decided to exercise caution. However, this colorless creature was his only hope, so he brought his charm back into play.

“I did not wait so much as a day, Miss Witherspoon. After Kura departed, I resigned my position, bought a horse, and here I am. I have a position in Haldon—not a management position yet, I must admit, but I plan to work my hardest! One day I would like to court Kura openly.”

Miss Witherspoon’s face glowed. That was exactly what she wanted to hear. She obviously had a weakness for romantic stories.

“Thus far, it has proved rather difficult.” William did not say why, but the young woman came up with a few reasons of her own right away.

“Kura is still rather young, of course,” she remarked. “One has to grant Mrs. McKenzie that, even though the girl does not accept it herself. Kura was quite incensed when she was so suddenly… er… torn from your side.” Miss Witherspoon blushed.

William lowered his head. “It broke my heart as well,” he admitted. He hoped he wasn’t laying it on too thick, but Miss Witherspoon looked understanding. “Please do not misunderstand me, though. I am well acquainted with the responsibility. Kura is like a flower in its prime that has not yet fully bloomed. It would be irresponsible to… too soon…” If he said “to pluck her,” this young lady would likely die of shame. William simply chose not to finish the sentence. “I
am, in any event, prepared to wait for Kura. Until she is of age… or Mrs. McKenzie recognizes her as such.”

“Kura is quite mature for her age!” Miss Witherspoon expanded on the point. “It would surely be a mistake to treat her like a child.”

Kura had indeed been sulking since her return from Queenstown, and just that morning there had been another unpleasant confrontation between her and James McKenzie. It took place during the fifth repetition of the Bach oratorio that Kura was working on while the rest of the family ate breakfast. For James, it was the straw that broke the camel’s back.

Kura did not need to have meals with them, he explained, but she should spare them her moods. Either way, he would not listen to that depressing music a moment longer, he said. Even a cow would lose its appetite! While Jack, giggling, had taken sides with his father, Mrs. McKenzie had remained silent, as usual. In the end, Kura fled, insulted, to her room, and Heather Witherspoon had followed to comfort her. At which point she became the next person over whom the storm cloud broke. She was not to support Kura in her folly, Mrs. McKenzie informed her, and was instead to see to her obligations and hold the devotion with the Maori.

William knew none of that, of course, but he sensed Miss Witherspoon’s resentment toward Mr. and Mrs. McKenzie. He decided to risk it.

“Miss Witherspoon, would it be possible for me to see Kura just once? Without involving her grandparents? I do not have anything indecent in mind, by any means. I’d just like to get a look at her. A simple hello from her would make me so happy. And I hope very much that she likewise yearns for me.” William observed his conversation partner attentively. Had he struck the right note?

“Yearns for you?” Miss Witherspoon asked, flushed, her voice wavering. “Mr. Martyn, she’s being eaten up inside! The girl is suffering. You should hear her singing! Her voice has become even more expressive. She feels so deeply.”

William was delighted to hear that, though he did not recall Kura being quite so sentimental. He had difficulty imagining her
bursting into tears. But if Miss Witherspoon wanted to play the role of a lifesaver who could prevent the suicide of someone with a broken heart…

“Miss Witherspoon,” he broke in. “I do not meant to push too hard, but is there any possibility, truly?”

The woman finally seemed to consider the matter seriously. And came quickly to an answer.

“Maybe in church,” she concluded. “I cannot promise anything, but I’ll see what can be done. In any event, go to service next Sunday in Haldon.”

“Kura wants to go to Haldon?” James McKenzie asked, dumbfounded. “The princess is prepared to mix with the common folk? Why this sudden change of heart?”

“Now James, just be happy, instead of only looking at the dark side of everything.” Gwyneira had just explained to her husband that Miss Witherspoon and Kura intended to attend the coming Sunday service. The rest of the family could ride along or simply enjoy a peaceful Sunday morning without arias and adagios. That alone was reason enough to skip the service.

Wild horses could not have dragged James and Jack to town—even if they were a bit curious about what exactly was drawing Kura to Haldon. Gwyneira, too, was looking forward to an undisturbed family breakfast with Jack—or just alone with James in their room. In fact, she would like that even better. “Kura has been working so long on this strange Bach piece. Now she wants to hear it on the organ. That’s understandable.”

“And she means to play it herself? In front of every Tom, Dick, and Harry in Haldon? Gwyn, there’s something very strange about all this.” James furrowed his brow and whistled for his dog. Gwyneira had sought out her husband in the stables. Andy and a few other men were deworming the ewes while James directed the sheepdogs who
were driving the ewes to them. At the moment, Monday was contentedly following on the heels of a thick, rebellious ball of wool.