Song of the Spirits (78 page)

“Introduced? They presented her like a debutante. In a white dress, even. Well, not all white, there was a touch of green on it too. Appliqué around the neckline, you see.”

Kura rolled her eyes. That was also typical of Caleb. He could never manage to concentrate on what was most important, because he was always being captivated by the details. This trait was helpful when it came to their work together—and the Maoris greatly appreciated it. Over the last few months, Kura and Caleb had sought out other villages where they could study
haka
, and Caleb could lose himself for hours working with some
tohunga
, discussing, for instance, the stylization of a fern in a typical carving. He had picked up the Maori language very quickly and took special note of unusual words—almost more than common words like “water” or “village.” Caleb’s meticulous nature
did not make him particularly well suited to daily life, however, and in situations like this, he could drive his listener to distraction.

“Get to the point, Caleb,” Kura admonished.

“In any case, they never stopped talking about the mines, the Webers’ or ours, and their common distribution lanes. And she looked me over with such a resigned expression. It was as though she weren’t even at the horse market, but had already been stuck with a lame nag and decided to try to make the best of it.”

Kura had to laugh. “But you’re no lame nag,” she remarked.

“No, but a ‘queer fellow,’ as they say,” Caleb whispered, sinking his head far over his glass. “I don’t like girls.”

Kura furrowed her brow. “People refer to that as being a ‘queer fellow’? I hadn’t heard that. But it’s hardly a surprise.”

Caleb looked up at her, confused. “You… you knew?” His long face turned red as a beet.

Kura had to laugh. It was inconceivable that this man had not noticed her attempts to seduce him. But it would do no good to tease him about it. So she nodded and waited for Caleb to cease struggling to breathe and for his face to resume a halfway-normal coloring.

“As I said, it hasn’t escaped me,” she said finally. “But what do you plan to do now? Should I… I mean, would you like me to sleep with you? That won’t work; I can tell you that straightaway. Bernadette, one of the dancers in the ensemble, was in love with Jimmy, but he was… like you. Bernadette tried everything: made herself pretty, fondled him, got him drunk. But nothing worked. Some are just one way, others another.”

Kura had no trouble accepting that. Caleb considered her again with pained, if also slightly embarrassed, looks.

“I would never importune you in that manner, Kura,” he assured her. “Even to think about it would be indecent.”

Kura could hardly hold back her giggling. She hoped Paddy Holloway was not listening and spreading this conversation around the pub.

“It’s only… Kura, would you get engaged to me?”

There. He had said it. Caleb looked at her expectantly, but the hopeful light in his eyes went out when he saw the expression on her face.

Kura sighed. “How would that help, Caleb? I won’t marry you, absolutely not. Even if I could, I mean, even if I could warm up to the idea of getting married. I would want something out of it. I wasn’t made for a platonic marriage. You’re better off asking this Florence girl.
Pakeha
women are often brought up rather prudish.”

“But I don’t even know her.” Caleb almost sounded like a child, and it struck Kura that he was scared to death of the Weber heiress. “And I wasn’t even thinking of marrying. Just of… er… being engaged. Or pretending that were the case. Until I think of another solution.”

Kura couldn’t help but wonder what solution Caleb could possibly think of. However, he was highly intelligent. Perhaps he would find an answer once he had calmed down a bit.

“Please, Kura,” he said. “At least come to Sunday dinner. If I invite you formally, that’s practically a sign.”

Kura saw it more as a declaration of war, but the likes of Florence Weber did not scare her. The girl would probably look for the closest hole to crawl through as soon as she laid eyes on Kura. Kura knew how girls typically reacted to her, and she would do with Florence Weber just what she had done with Elaine O’Keefe.

“All right, fine, Caleb. But if I’m going to play your fiancée, you must stop being so formal with me.”

Florence proved to be of an entirely different caliber than Elaine. A person would require both Caleb’s kind disposition and his lack of instincts about female beauty to even call the girl “quite pretty.” Florence was short and of a shape that, though still appealing now, would assume the roundness of her mother after her first child. The pale-red freckles on her oval, almost doughy face did not exactly suit her thick brown hair. Though her dark tresses looked just as
unruly as Elaine’s, they seemed to be smothering her face rather than dancing playfully around her features. Added to which, the girl was nearsighted—which was perhaps one of the reasons the sight of Kura had not completely demoralized her.

“So, you are Caleb’s… friend,” Florence remarked as she greeted Kura. “I’ve heard you sing.” Florence emphasized the words “friend” and “sing” as she spoke, as though they demonstrated a total lack of propriety. However, the fact that Caleb kept company with barroom singers did not seem to shock her. Kura came to the conclusion that Florence Weber was not so easily shaken.

“Florence took a few singing lessons herself,” Mrs. Biller piped. Though she had emphasized Kura’s attractive qualities at the last dinner party, she had apparently since decided to advocate for the Weber heiress. “In England. Isn’t that right, Florence?”

Florence nodded, with eyes cast down demurely. “But merely to pass the time,” she said with a smile. “You can enjoy an opera or chamber music concert so much more when you have some understanding of how much work and how many hours are poured into a production of that sort. Don’t you agree, Caleb?”

Caleb could only nod.

“But you never really
studied
singing, did you, Miss Martyn?”

Kura remained composed on the surface, but she was angry. This girl did not have even a modicum of fear or respect for her. And she would not be satisfied with Kura’s usual monosyllabic answers. Florence seemed to know that trick and only asked questions that required that Kura to answer in complete sentences or with as many justifications as possible.

“I was privately educated,” Kura explained briefly.

At which point Mrs. Biller, Mrs. Weber, and Florence all pointed out the undeniable advantages of a boarding-school education.

Caleb listened with a pained expression on his face. His boarding-school education had helped him to understand his predisposition early in life. He had admitted as much to Kura later on that night in the pub, but of course he could not use that as an argument here. Instead, he presented such a theatrical demonstration of his love for Kura that
it was almost embarrassing. A gentleman would never have put his feelings on display in that manner, but in this case, Caleb lacked his sense, usually so fine, for what was appropriate.

Kura reflected that any other girl would surely have run screaming from the room if presented with such a candidate for marriage. Florence Weber, however, observed the performance with a stoic smile and ironclad composure. She chatted affectedly about music and art, effortlessly managing to make Caleb look silly and lovestruck, and Kura like Jezebel herself: “I understand that you particularly love
Carmen
, Miss Martyn. I’m sure you lend her a very convincing… air. No, I don’t think Don José is really to be blamed. If sin comes in such a seductive guise as that gypsy. And besides, he gets over her in the end. If by… well, rather drastic means.” She smiled at that, as though she would be ready at any time to sharpen the knife that would finally be thrust between Kura’s ribs.

Kura was thrilled when she could finally make her escape; Caleb, however, remained prey to Florence Weber. The Webers were the Billers’ houseguests while they looked for their own residence in Greymouth. Mr. Weber had acquired a share in the new train line and wanted to put his business affairs in order. It was quite possible that the Webers would reside with the Billers for several weeks before they returned to Westport, during which time they obviously hoped that Florence and Caleb would feather their own nest.

The young man showed up at the pub again the next day in a dejected state and told Kura his sorrows. While his mother had dealt with him harshly that very evening after dinner, his father had gone about it more subtly. The next morning, he had asked his son to come into his office to say a few serious words to him, man to man. “Boy, naturally you’re attracted to that Kura girl. She’s without a doubt the loveliest thing you could imagine, but we have to think about the future too. Give Florence a couple of kids to keep her busy, and then find yourself a pretty mistress.”

Caleb looked so desperate that even Paddy had some sympathy and waved Kura away from the piano.

“Cheer the boy up a bit, girl. No one wants to see a sad sight like that. But get him to buy a bottle of the single malt while you’re at it, got it? Otherwise, you’ll have to make up the difference in what we make.”

Kura rolled her eyes. Paddy was probably already taking bets on when and whether a milksop like Caleb Biller would ever succeed in getting Florence Weber pregnant.

“She’s awful,” Caleb mumbled, seeming to tremble at the very thought of the girl. “She wants to smother me completely.”

“That can happen,” Kura said drily, imagining the corpulence she expected of Florence someday. “But you don’t have to marry her. No one can make you. Look here, Caleb, I’ve been thinking about it.”

She had actually been doing just that and, in the process, had gotten involved in someone else’s problems for the first time in her life. Kura could hardly comprehend it herself, but then again, the results of her efforts might work out favorably for her as well. She poured Caleb a large glass of whiskey and laid out her thoughts.

“You could never, ever live here in Greymouth with another man,” she explained. “People would never stop talking about you if you did such a thing, and your parents would drag one Florence Weber after another into the house. You’d eventually get worn down, Caleb. That simply won’t work. You would only be left the life of a bachelor. But you’re an artist. You play the piano very well, and you’ve got a talent for composing and arranging music. There’s no reason for you to make your gifts public only after you’ve gotten drunk in the pub.”

“Kura, please! Have you ever seen me drunk?” Caleb looked at her indignantly before pouring himself a third glass of whiskey.

“Well, no, not drunk, but tipsy,” Kura replied. “But an artist needs to have the courage to sit at the piano without whiskey. What I’m getting at is that we could put a recital together, Caleb. You arrange a few of the
haka
and songs we’ve collected for piano and voice. Or for two pianos with vocal accompaniment, or for a duet on one. The more voices, the better it will work. We can test it out here and in Westport, and then we can go on a tour. First around the South Island, then the North Island. Then Australia, England…”

“England?” Caleb looked hopeful. After all this time, he still dreamed of his friends from boarding school. “Do you think we could be that successful?”

“Why not?” Kura was full of confidence. “I like your arrangements, and the Londoners supposedly love anything exotic. It’s worth a try, at any rate. You just need to trust yourself, Caleb. Your father—”

“My father won’t be enthusiastic.” Caleb chewed his lower lip. “But at first, we could perform at charity events. My mother is involved in those, as is Mrs. Weber.”

Kura smiled sardonically. “
Miss
Weber will undoubtedly be more charmed than anyone. So, shall we do it? If you want to do it, we can practice in the evenings, after the mine closes and before the pub opens.”

As expected, Florence Weber put on a brave face and pretended to be quite enthused by the music of the Maori. Fortunately for Caleb, the Webers had begun renting a house in Greymouth by this time, and Florence and her mother spent a great deal of their time furnishing it. Mrs. Biller raved every day about the taste and skills that Florence was developing in the process.