Song of the Spirits (44 page)

Kura’s success, as Gwyneira silently mused, might also be traced to her outward appearance, but in the end it did not matter. Kura was enjoying herself and making money. As long as her success lasted, she would not spare Kiward Station a thought.

“Give her a little time, boy,” James said appeasingly, holding his glass out to William. Gwyneira had not noticed, but William had just drained his third whiskey. James had been listening to the dispute for half an hour and felt that he had earned a drink. “Running after her now won’t do any good. Besides, you obviously had a fight before she took off, isn’t that so?”

William and Heather were still the only two who knew what had happened the night Kura set out, and neither wanted it to become common knowledge. Kura’s departure had marked the end of their relationship, at least for the time being. William had not touched the governess since his wife had left him and did not feel inclined toward any intimate conversation with her. No one seemed to suspect anything—and William knew that it was in his best interest to keep it that way.

“Exactly! Just let her take part in this tour,” Gwyneira said. “After that, we can see. The other singers’ return trip is already booked anyway; George assured me of that. The organization is bearing all the travel expenses. If Kura wants to go on to England afterward, she will either have to pay using her own wages or ask me for money. We can revisit the matter then. But peacefully, William. I don’t want to lose another granddaughter!”

This last comment made everyone go quiet. She was referring to the tragic story of Elaine, which Gwyneira and James had only recently learned about. Gwyneira had gotten very worked up but hadn’t condemned Elaine at all. The same thing could have happened to her; after all, she too had stood before John Sideblossom with a gun in pointed at him. Though the circumstances had been different, Gwyneira was convinced that Elaine must have had good reason for defending herself in such a manner. But she didn’t know why the girl
had not sought her help. Kiward Station was isolated. They could have hidden Elaine for a while as they looked for a solution. An escape to Australia or even England could have been arranged. Elaine’s disappearing without a trace wore on Gwyneira’s nerves. It was out of the question that they should also lose contact with Kura!

William took a few, somewhat smaller, gulps of his whiskey. He would have liked to chase after his wife now rather than later—that sly Roderick Barrister was not letting her sing out of the kindness of his heart. He was undoubtedly hoping for something in return for allowing Kura onstage so soon. And he was “instructing” her himself. In what art? Not only was William’s pride wounded, but he was also seething with jealousy.

On the other hand, he could hardly counter Gwyneira’s arguments. Yes, it was embarrassing to sit there as an abandoned husband. But if he forced Kura to return, the first thing she would do was tell everyone why she had left—and William would be dead to the McKenzies.

“What am I supposed to do in the meantime?” he inquired, drunk and nearly in tears. “I mean, I…”

“You continue on as before, though you would be most welcome to care a bit more actively for your child,” Gwyneira informed him. “Beyond that, challenge yourself to learn your work properly and make yourself useful. Let us assume that Kura is just taking a trip. She is getting to know the world a bit, exercising her gifts, and will return in a few months. You must look at it that way, William. Anything else would be nonsense.”

That was easy for Gwyneira to say, but if William’s life on Kiward Station had already had its perils before Kura’s departure, it now became unbearable. The workers, who had once mocked his failings as a sheep baron with some degree of discretion, now leered openly. Apparently, or so they whispered, the “crown prince” lacked certain skills outside of the stables too—he didn’t appear to have what it took to hold onto a gem like Kura for long.

“Good-for-nothing!” said Poker Livingston, who had been showing up at the farm more regularly. The more easygoing Andy McAran listened to William’s orders and ideas with a neutral expression, but then just did whatever he thought was right.

To William, the Maori were the worst. When the tribe had returned from its migration, the men resumed their work at Kiward Station. William, for his part, ignored them. They had always accepted him, however begrudgingly, as a member of the local
pakeha
tribe, but with Kura’s departure, he lost all authority. It didn’t matter whether William expressed his demands calmly or by screaming—most of the Maori simply looked right through him.

That drove William mad, all the more so because he was getting less and less sympathy from Gwyneira. She had noticed that he was drowning his anger in whiskey and had taken to criticizing him for that.

“How do you mean to provide an example to the men when you show up late and hungover in the morning? I don’t like it either, William. Above all, I don’t know how I should act. If I defend you, I turn myself into a laughingstock and lose authority with the men. But if I concede that the men are right, you hold it against me and sink deeper into your whiskey. It has to stop, William! I’ve had a drunk on the farm before, and I won’t let it happen again as long as I have any say in the matter.”

“And what do you mean to do, Gwyneira?” William asked mockingly. “Throw me out? You could do it, of course, but then you’d lose Gloria. Because, naturally, I’d take her with me.”

Gwyneira forced herself to remain calm. “Then start learning to cook porridge,” she replied nonchalantly, “and think about who will want to give you a job when you’ve got a baby in tow. How do you even mean to travel with Gloria? Do you plan to stick the girl in a saddlebag?”

Her speech struck William dumb, but later, Gwyneira confessed to her husband that his threat had filled her with fear.

“It is true that we have no right to the child. If he were to take her with him, we would have to support them, maybe send him money each month to pay for a nanny and an apartment.”

James shook his head. “Gwyn, dear, don’t panic,” he said, attempting to soothe her by stroking her hair. “You’re being absurd. Thank God our Billyboy didn’t hear you say that. But you don’t seriously believe that our would-be sheep baron would allow himself to be supported by you? Where would he go with Gloria once word had gotten out? And what would he do with her? Dear God, he doesn’t even know how to hold her. He would never take her with him, especially since our Mrs. Whealer is no serf he can simply order to accompany him. Besides, the girl still has a mother. You could turn to Kura. She must care enough for her daughter to hand custody over to you. Any court would decide in her favor. So don’t drive yourself mad.” James pulled Gwyneira into his arms, but he did not altogether succeed in calming her. She had felt so sure of her position. But William was getting out of control.

For the first few days after Kura’s departure, Heather Witherspoon had slunk around like a whipped dog. She could not understand why William had suddenly rebuffed her and, moreover, so rudely. It was not her fault that Kura had caught them. On the contrary, she had easily figured out Kura’s strategy that night and made hints to William about it. But he had been too drunk to understand and unwilling to let himself be manipulated by his wife.

“I don’t come crawling whenever she whistles!” he had declared in a state of drunken agitation. “And… and I’m certainly not going to take her to Christchurch. She can swing her hips until the sky falls. I’ll take her when I want and not when it suits her.”

Heather had not tried to persuade him further. No one could ask that of her. She loved him, after all. It was not right to lay all the blame on her.

Yet Heather had long since learned that life did not always work out according to what was right, and so she fell back on her tried-and-true strategy: she would wait. William would eventually come around; at some point he would need her. She did not believe that Kura would return. She was basking in success for the first time in her life, and if she needed a man, she would look for one where she was. Kura-maro-tini was not dependent on William Martyn. And if Heather did believe in love, it was in the love
she
felt.

Kura had already found her man—even if she would not have described her feelings for him as love. But she certainly admired Roderick Barrister: he embodied the fulfillment of all her dreams of success and career. For one, he could initiate her into the mysteries of opera singing, much more deeply and intensively than Heather Witherspoon ever had with her three music classes in Switzerland. In addition to that, he had power—the ensemble followed his orders with a devotion like nothing Kura had ever seen before. There were masters and servants on Kiward Station, of course, but Kura had taken for granted the high-handedness and self-assurance of the workers that had so confounded William. Slavish obedience was not wanted on sheep farms; whoever worked there had to be able to make decisions for themselves. In Roderick Barrister’s ensemble, however, only one person’s opinion counted: his. He could make ballerinas happy by promising them another solo, and even fully trained singers like Sabina Conetti dared not contradict him when he put a novice like Kura before them. Roderick Barrister’s favor, Kura quickly learned, had much to do with the physical exertion of the ensemble’s female members. The ballerinas often spoke of how Brigitte was allowed to sing the Carmen piece only because she let the impresario have his way with her. A close-lipped midwife in Wellington did away with the unwanted consequence of the affair.

Afterward, Brigitte could not dance for several weeks and repeatedly sobbed through the night, a routine that initially got on Kura’s
nerves because she was sharing a hotel room with the dancer. However, after only a few nights, Kura began to slip out shortly after bedtime to visit the impresario herself. Brigitte did not hold this against Kura and pretended not to notice a thing. She was relieved to be rid of the singing parts that were hopelessly beyond her, and she certainly had no further interest in Roderick.

Kura found herself strongly attracted to the handsome tenor. She did not have to fake her enthusiasm when she succumbed to his advances. He did not bother long with kisses and harmless caresses though. And when Kura expressed her fears about becoming pregnant, he only laughed.

“Nonsense, child, I’ll be careful! Nothing will go wrong with me. No worries.”

Kura wanted to believe that, and she noticed that Roderick pulled out of her more quickly when making love than William had. But the situation with Brigitte nagged at the back of her mind. Finally, with a thumping heart, she confided in Sabina Conetti. Although she was a bit concerned that the singer did not particularly like her—Roderick was now rehearsing the soprano roles with his new discovery—Kura trusted her more than anyone else to have insights into women’s problems. And Sabina did instruct Kura in what little she knew about these matters.

“You can stay away from him on the dangerous days. But that is never a sure thing; nothing ever is,” she said. “Least of all the fellows’ promises they’ll marry you if things go wrong, or anything else they say. Believe me, Roderick will promise you the moon and the stars now, but you shouldn’t count on that. For the moment, he thinks himself a Pygmalion, but in the end, he’s the same as the rest. Once he has no more need of you, he’ll drop you.