Song of the Spirits (18 page)

“Who else is supposed to play it?” Gwyneira asked, pulling the hood of her waxed jacket over her head. It was raining again. “The organist in Haldon is terrible.” This last point was one of the reasons that Kura had not attended church in Haldon for years.

The winter weather caused James to bring up another objection. “Say, Gwyn, isn’t that piece the
Easter Oratorio
? It’s August.”

Gwyneira rolled her eyes. “As far as I’m concerned, it could just as well be the
Papa Loves Rangi Oratorio
.” James grinned at the mention of the Maori creation myth that spoke of the separation of the lovers, Rangi, who represented heaven, and Papa, the earth. “The main thing is that Kura is no longer walking around here with a face like the suffering Christ and is finally moving on.”

H
earing Kura Warden at the organ in Haldon was an experience. And the Sunday service was better attended than it had been for months. No wonder, since every resident of the town was dying to see and hear the mysterious Warden heiress. Her effect on the service was quite positive, and the prayers were spoken with uncommon zeal that day. All the men fell into various states of prayer as soon as their eyes fell on Kura’s face and figure, while the women were overcome by the girl’s singing. Kura’s voice filled the small church with harmony, and her organ playing was virtuosic, despite the fact that she had practiced only once.

William could not get over seeing her slender figure in the gallery. Kura wore a simple but flattering navy-blue velvet dress. Her hair, pulled back from her face by a velvet band, fell like a dark current down her back. William imagined kissing the delicate yet powerful fingers now flitting across the organ’s keys, and he could have sworn he could feel anew how those fingers had explored his face and body that night in Queenstown. Naturally, Kura sat facing away from the congregation as she played. Yet she occasionally lifted her head a bit from the music so that William could see her face. Her equal-parts exotic and aristocratic features and the holy earnestness with which she played put him under her spell once again. He had to talk to her after service. No, he had to kiss her! Just seeing her would be too much to bear. He had to touch her, feel her, breathe in her scent.

William forced himself to smile at Miss Witherspoon, who was sitting upright in one of the front pews, occasionally looking at him, as if for praise. Because she had arranged this meeting? If that was the
case, she would probably be willing to do more to bring the lovers together. Or was she merely proud of her highly gifted student?

In the end, Dorothy Candler led William straight to Kura. Like almost every citizen in Haldon, she was dying to see the prodigy up close, and William offered her the perfect excuse.

“Come, Mr. Martyn, let’s say hello. You know the girl, do you not? She was just in Queenstown visiting relatives. Surely you were introduced to her.”

William mumbled something about her being a “passing acquaintance,” but Dorothy had already taken him by the arm and, encouraged, steered him toward Kura and Miss Witherspoon.

“You played exceptionally well, Miss Warden,” Dorothy said. “I’m the head of the women’s group, and I can assure you on behalf of all of us that it was wonderful. By the way, this gentleman is Mr. Martyn. I believe you’ve met.”

Kura had, until that moment, been staring into the crowd—or rather, through the crowd—with her habitual bored gaze. But suddenly a spark of life flickered into her radiant blue eyes. Her expression of interest was quite restrained, as Kura knew that she was being observed. William could not help thinking about Elaine. At a moment like this, she would have blushed and lost her ability to speak; he was sure of it. But Kura proved her maturity in this situation.

“Indeed, Mr. Martyn. A pleasure to see you again.”

“Come along into the hall,” Dorothy said. “Every Sunday we have tea after service. And today, since there is something special to celebrate.”

Miss Witherspoon looked a bit harried, but Kura acquiesced politely.

“I’d love some tea,” she said, giving the shopkeeper’s wife a smile. Only William knew it was really intended for him.

In the church hall, he brought Kura tea and cake, but she only took a few sips and crumbled the cake between her fingers. As she politely and monosyllabically answered questions from the reverend and members of the women’s group, she cast tiny glances at William from time to time—no more than a heartbeat long—until he thought
he could not take it any longer. But then she shuffled past him as she said good-bye to the women’s group and whispered a few words to him.

“You know the path between Kiward Station and the Maori camp. Meet me there at sundown. I’ll say I’m visiting my people.”

Immediately thereafter, Kura excused herself from her enthusiastic devotees in Haldon. The reverend asked her if she would now be playing the organ more often in the church, but Kura replied evasively.

William left the room before she did. He was afraid he would give himself away with a look or a gesture if he formally took his leave. He did not know what he would do with the rest of the day.

Until sundown on the path through the woods. Alone.

That last point proved a false conclusion: Kura did not come alone but with Heather Witherspoon. She did not appear to be enthusiastic about this arrangement, and treated her governess like a burdensome footman. However, she could not be gotten rid of. Decency was paramount to Miss Witherspoon.

Still, William almost expired from bliss when Kura finally stood before him again. Gently, he took her hand and kissed it—that touch alone sent him through a thousand fires that gave him life instead of burning him. Kura smiled openly. He melted under her gaze and could hardly tear himself from the sight of her creamy brown skin. He stroked her cheek with trembling fingers, and Kura rubbed against him like a cat—or rather, like a tamed tiger—moving her face against the palm of his hand and gently biting its heel. William could hardly hide his arousal, and it seemed no different for Kura. Miss Witherspoon, however, let out a cough when the girl raised her lips to him for a kiss. That degree of intimacy was clearly too much for her.

Nevertheless, she permitted a walk, hand in hand, and Kura’s fingers teased William’s palm as they strolled, fluttering up to his wrist and caressing it with tiny circles. That alone was enough to take William’s breath away. It was difficult to have a normal conversation,
even one between two people in love, as William and Kura did not want to talk. They wanted to make love.

They exchanged compliments about Kura’s concert and William’s new job, and Kura complained a bit about her family. She wanted to escape from her grandmother’s control as soon possible.

“I could live with my mother, of course,” she explained. “But then I would not be able to use the piano. My grandmum has made that very clear. And Miss Witherspoon would not like living in a Maori village, let alone the one on O’Keefe Station.

William learned that Marama and her husband lived on what had once been Ruben O’Keefe’s parents’ farm. After Howard O’Keefe’s death, Helen had sold the farm to Gwyneira, who had passed it on to the Maori as reparation for the irregularities in the sale of Kiward Station. It was an arrangement that the chieftain, Tonga, had only acquiesced to because Kura, the designated heir of the Wardens’ land, had Maori blood.

“That’s why everyone is obsessed with my holding onto this boring farm,” Kura sighed. “I couldn’t care less about it, but I hear ‘You are the heiress!’ three times a day. And my mother is no different, though at least she doesn’t care whether I marry a Maori or a
pakeha
. For my grandmum, on the other hand, the sky would fall if I were to choose someone from Tonga’s tribe.”

William was all but going mad with love and longing. He was listening to Kura’s stories as he had once listened to Elaine’s babbling. Though her last comment had registered, he would not think about it until later.

Perhaps he and Gwyneira McKenzie had more in common than he had thought. She might not be entirely opposed to a conversation after all.

“I’m missing something, Gwyn, aren’t I? You don’t really mean to allow her to officially visit with the boy who broke our Lainie’s heart?”

James McKenzie was pouring himself a whiskey from the cabinet, which he still did only rarely even after many years as the so-called lord of this manor. During his time as a foreman under Gerald Warden, he had hardly ever been asked into the salon, and the old man had certainly never offered him a drink. That evening, however, he was helping himself generously. He needed a pick-me-up. He had just watched the young man, recently pointed out to him as William Martyn by Dorothy Candler, ride away grandly down the main approach. His name had not been given at the time; otherwise, James would have had a few words to say on the subject of Elaine. He took a big gulp from his glass.

Fleurette’s letters still sounded terribly despondent. Even three months after the scandal had broken, Elaine had not recovered from her heartache. James could well understand that; he remembered the burning jealousy he had felt toward Gwyneira’s fiancé, Lucas Warden, after she first arrived at Kiward Station. It had broken his heart when she had become pregnant with someone else’s child, and he had fled, just like Lucas. If he had only known then that the unfortunate child—Paul—had been the result of Gwyneira being raped by her father-in-law, everything might have turned out differently, even with Paul. And they might not have the insufferable Kura hanging like an albatross around their necks—Kura, whose contact with William Martyn his wife now wanted to make official! Gwyneira could not be serious. James poured himself another drink.

Gwyneira too was worked up enough to make use of the whiskey bottle herself, which hardly ever happened.

“What am I supposed to do, James?” she asked. “If we forbid it, they’ll meet in secret. All Kura needs to do is move to the Maori camp. Marama isn’t about to impose limits on who she shares her bed with.”

“She won’t move to the Maori camp, because she can’t take her beloved piano with her. That condition was a master stroke, Gwyn—one of the few you’ve ever made in raising that child.” James took another long slug.

“Thank you,” Gwyneira growled. “Blame me for everything! If I’m not mistaken, you too lived in this house while she was growing up.”

“And you stopped me several times from bending Kura over my knee.” James put his hand on his wife’s arm and smiled at her. He did not want to fight about Kura’s upbringing. That could not be changed, and the subject had already led to enough recriminations between them. But this business with William Martyn was another matter.

“She probably wouldn’t give a damn about the piano. She’s in love with him, James, head over heels. And he with her. You know all too well that there’s nothing to be done about that.” Gwyneira returned his tender touch as though to remind James of their own story.

He was not to be soothed, however.

“Don’t talk to me about eternal love. Not with a boy who just left his last girl. And charming little Kura likewise just cast off Tiare like an old shirt. Yes, I know that’s exactly what you wanted. But when the two of them fling themselves at each other so soon after that, grand romance is hardly what comes to mind. Then there’s what Fleur writes about him.”

“Oh? And what exactly does she have to say?” Gwyneira asked. “What has he done that’s so terrible? He comes from a good family, he’s educated and he’s apparently interested in culture, which is precisely what makes him so attractive to Kura. So what if he was excited about the Fenians? My God, every boy wants to play Robin Hood.”

“But they don’t all go straight to bombing the sheriff of Nottingham,” James remarked.

“He didn’t even do that. I admit it sounds as if he got himself tangled in a bad bit of business. But you especially ought to understand how that can happen.”

“Because of my past as a livestock thief, you mean?” James smirked. That subject had not been able to rob him of his composure for some time. “At least I never stole the wrong person’s sheep, whereas your William almost killed someone on his own side. Fine, fine, the folly of youth. I don’t want to beat a dead horse. But he behaved like an ass to Elaine, and there’s no reason to believe he’ll treat Kura any better.”