But at last she picked up the pen and dipped it carefully in the ink. She bent over her paper and then the words poured out as if she could not stop them.
Dearest, my dearest Mary, always remember how much I love you and need you. I only get angry at what you are doing for my own sake, because I get frightened yet I see how much it means to you and I wish I was brave like you and part of me, even when I am so frightened, is proud of you because you are not like an ordinary sister but an extraordinary one. Perhaps, when I return, I could try to come with you, perhaps that would be a way to make some sense of life. Oh if only we could go and join Edward. He showed us a picture of this new country and there was such – space – in it. How I would love to be planning such an adventure as he is, I feel I could face any hardship, any deprivation, if you and I were together, and away from Father; that I would be happy at last.
The sound of the pen scratching so fast along the paper stopped for some time, then started again, but slower.
Aunt Lucretia has informed me that Father has said that I should no longer teach even Asobel; it is not a suitable activity for a lady.
I have here one of Edward’s books, and have been reading the instructions about what emigrants should take to New Zealand:
‘A Mackintosh sheet to spread under your blankets proves useful on exploring parties. A Mackintosh airbed, too, has been found useful. The Bishop of New Zealand once used one as a canoe while on an expedition through the interiors.’
It is all a dream of course, my dearest sister, I know that. Father will never let us. Dearest Mary, I love you very much. Please please, take every possible care. I cannot live without you.
From your loving sister
Harriet
And then she knelt down beside the big four-poster bed with the soft feather mattress.
O Lord, from whom all good things do come:
grant to me thy humble servant, that by holy
inspiration I may think those things that be good.
Lord, forgive whatever thy eyes have seen in me
that displeaseth thee and guide me to be grateful
for the many things in life that are beautiful.
I do not mean to be a selfish person.
Watch over all the people in this house through
the silent hours of the night and may grace and peace be with them all.
And most of all, dear Lord, please guide the life
of my dear, dear sister Mary, help and protect her
in all that she does, and keep her safe.
For the sake of Jesus Christ our Lord,
Amen.
EIGHT
The calling on Lady Kingdom was postponed, owing to the indisposition of Lucretia Cooper, to whom William had, while dressing that morning, confided Edward’s early departure plans. The servants, Augusta, Asobel and Harriet all visited her in turn with warm gruel, and lozenges, and tea, and camphorated oil, but Lucretia lay with her back to them all and was silent. The doctor was finally called and reported that Mrs Cooper would not speak to him either. He and Uncle William shut themselves in the study with some cider. Asobel, holding her globe, listened outside the study for some time, until Harriet, observing her, at once suggested a walk to ‘Edward’s Little House’, as it had come to be called. As they walked through the fields Asobel suddenly said, ‘Harriet.’
‘Yes, Asobel?’
Asobel looked up at her cousin and Harriet saw that her face was pale.
‘What is it, Asobel?’ she asked, concerned.
‘I have been thinking a great deal.’
‘About what?’ asked Harriet kindly.
‘I am very worried about Eddie’s ship.’
‘Why is that?’
‘You remember in “Robinson Crusoe” when the big storm with those waves comes, and the boat is cast upon the shore and everyone drowns except Robinson Crusoe – could that happen to Eddie?’
‘Oh, no,’ said Harriet decidedly. ‘Edward will be travelling on a much bigger ship than Robinson Crusoe did. And that story was in the olden days when ships were not so reliable perhaps. Everything is much safer now.’
‘Do you promise?’
Harriet said, and behind her back as they walked she crossed her fingers, ‘I promise.’ And then she told Asobel about the Mackintosh Mattress Canoe, a story Asobel received with delight and wove at once into one of her own long, rambling but fanciful narratives, and they sat on the narrow bed and watched for fieldmice and talked of Edward’s exciting plans.
‘Why won’t Uncle Charles let you teach me any more, Harriet?’ Asobel asked later as they walked back to the house under a stormy sky. The wind was rising, it blew their dresses in front of them as they walked and snatched at their hair, and long grey and yellow clouds seemed to race past just above their heads. ‘My lessons are the best part of my day. This world here,’ and she pointed at all the countries on her globe, ‘I need you to teach me about it.’
Harriet was discomforted, hardly knew how to answer without making a criticism of her father. ‘I expect my father – I expect everybody – thinks you should have a proper governess, who would educate you properly, someone who knows a great deal more than I do.’
Asobel was not fooled. ‘I would not think Uncle Charles cares one inch about my education,’ she said rudely. ‘What does odicted mean?’
‘Odicted?’
‘The doctor said Mamma took too much laudanum. I heard him telling Papa. I heard them talking in the study. He said she was becoming odicted.’
‘Young ladies never, never listen at doors,’ said Harriet, shocked. ‘Those are the actions of a lesser person. You must never do that again, Asobel.’
‘How will I find out anything?’
‘People will tell you what they want you to know.’
‘People never tell girls anything. He said she must stop taking so much laudanum or she will become odicted.’
‘Addicted,’ corrected Harriet automatically.
‘Addicted. What does that mean?’
‘It means – having too much. Wanting too much. But I expect you misheard.’
Asobel gave her cousin an old-fashioned, eight-year-old look, but said nothing further.
* * *
In the house the silence of Lucretia unnerved everyone. A dramatic reaction to events they were used to: silence they were not. When, on the second day, Uncle William came in from the fields and found his wife had still not come down he took off his boots and went upstairs with heavy footsteps.
He came back down looking most uneasy. A brief, sombre grace was said to which he added ‘and God bless my dear wife Lucretia’ and the meal began, but conversation was muted and Edward’s normally cheerful demeanour seemed cast down at the pain he was causing his mother. Asobel’s high spirits were subdued and Augusta threw many reproachful glances at her brother while Uncle William and Cousin John discussed the price of wheat in a desultory manner. The atmosphere was not helped by the cold October wind which blew through the farmhouse and rattled at the windows as the candles flickered and danced.
And then suddenly Lucretia appeared. She was wrapped in an unsuitable garment for the dining room and clutching her bosom. The three men rose in unison and Augusta moved at once to her mother’s side and helped her to her usual place at one end of the damask-covered table. Asobel cheered up visibly and watched everything with great interest.
‘My dear—’ said William Cooper heartily, but she raised a hand.
‘Edward. Come to me,’ she said in a tremulous voice, and her younger son rose and moved to her. Harriet saw that his expression was a mixture of affection and embarrassment and determination; the emotions chased each other over his round, earnest face. His mother looked at him for several moments in silence.
‘I do not want to lose you, Edward,’ she said. ‘Whichever way I look at it I know I am losing you. You are leaving England and travelling so far away from us that I cannot even picture your journey in my mind no matter how hard I try.
You will board a ship that is to sail into almost unknown seas and an unknown world. It is impossible to understand when we may see you again and it makes my heart ache so much. Without you here, somewhere near us, we will be – so very lonely. You will have children of your own one day and then you will understand.’
‘Mamma,’ said Edward firmly, but his voice shook a little all the same. ‘New Zealand is on the other side of the world, but it is not the end of the world. I need not be there forever. And all my investigations have shown me that if I work hard there is every chance that I could make a better life – and for my children should I have them – than I could ever make here. John is to run the farm, and be with you always, and I must find another way. You and Father have always known that,’ and Harriet saw that John, always so confident and assured, was slumped slightly as he heard his fate told by his younger brother. The lights still flickered in the wind, casting shadows around the room. Lucretia was quiet again for a moment, and everyone could see that she was struggling to remain calm.
‘Tell me,’ she said, ‘how long will a letter from you take to reach us?’
Edward wanted to make things sound positive, yet did not want to dissemble. ‘They advised me that there is a mail service, Mamma. But I think a letter would take many months. Perhaps five or six. I understand mail from New Zealand goes to New South Wales first, and the ship may take four months to return to England.’
‘That is such a long journey, it would have been much easier if you had gone to Canada,’ and Lucretia gave a tiny sob which she at once contained. ‘It must be the longest journey in the world.’
Edward was silent.
‘Ships have – foundered on that long journey. I have seen paintings of waves reaching right over the ships, and all lost.’ Although it was clear that she was making an enormous effort to remain composed, Lucretia’s voice shook and her daughters turned pale and Asobel said ‘like Robinson Crusoe’ in a small voice, looking at Harriet.
Edward looked quite pale himself. ‘To my knowledge, Mamma, for some years now the ships have in most cases eventually reached their destination safely, they have learned of the dangers of those oceans, and how to battle with them. Some of the ships have done the journey many times, the Miranda has certainly sailed to New Zealand before. And there are ports of call they can make, should the vessel become unsafe. There are many ships coming and going to the southern Pacific Ocean and I think it is a deal safer than it used to be. Certainly nobody spoke of disasters.’
‘Nor pirates?’
Edward smiled. ‘No, Mamma, I have heard nothing of pirates.’
‘You say the barbarians there, the natives, are no longer savage?’
‘I believe that there were battles initially. But as I told you the other evening the missionaries have been a calming influence.’
‘Are there churches there, apart from the missionaries, who we know are often of a different class.’
‘Yes, Mamma, a fine English church in Wellington and more besides.’
‘And Wellington of course is named after the dear Duke.’
‘Yes, Mamma.’
And then Lucretia Cooper surprised them all. ‘I happen to know,’ she said, ‘that Her Majesty has taken a great interest in New Zealand. She is of course Queen of New Zealand also, and you will be under her protection as a citizen of Great Britain and that gives me comfort. It will be,’ and her voice trembled again, ‘terrible for us to say goodbye to you, Edward, to see the sails of the ship becoming smaller and smaller as we wave and never know how long it will be before we see or hear of you again.’ Harriet felt something pricking at the back of her own eyes and, looking across the table, saw a tear trickling down Asobel’s small cheeks, though she made no sound as she stared at her mother and her brother. Edward too was swallowing hard.
‘And so I think, my dear,’ continued Lucretia, nodding at her husband, ‘a glass of brandy for everyone to drink the health and welfare of our dearly loved son.’ And Harriet acknowledged that, even though she still clutched her heart in a dramatic manner, there was something heroic about her aunt, whose tears glittered behind her over-bright eyes and did not fall.
NINE
The preparations were tremendous.
Harriet read all the books Edward read, joined in the many fevered consultations about what should be taken to the other end of the world.
‘It says here,’ she said, ‘that there is no water for washing clothes during the whole of your voyage, and that you must take changes of linen, and air your clothes when you reach the sunshine of the tropics. Also that finery is superfluous.’
Edward grinned. ‘Don’t tell Mamma.’ He was labouring over a huge crate of farm tools and implements outside the barn.
‘It also says here that ladies should take their pianos.’
This time Edward laughed aloud. ‘I shall wait for Augusta to bring the piano. Though it would be nice to come home from ploughing fields to hear such a thing.’ Into the crate he loaded axes and knives and chains and hammers and many many nails; also a hunting gun which he wrapped carefully in an old linen, and some gunpowder.
‘Or a bugle or a cornet,’ continued Harriet, ‘which, it says here, “will be heard to advantage among the echoes of the beautiful mountain scenery”.’ But even as they were laughing her face became thoughtful again. ‘Edward, seriously, what will happen when you arrive, describe to me what they have told you, how you will choose your land, and build your house,’ and Edward would go over again what he had been told. Always Harriet fixed him with her beautiful, piercing eyes, drank in the knowledge, about a journey that was not, of course, for her.
Asobel ran towards them from the house. ‘Harriet, Harriet,’ she was calling. ‘It is time to call on Lady Kingdom, Mamma says.’
Harriet, her hair untidy, wearing her oldest dress, looked shocked. ‘Do you mean now?’
‘Mamma says so.’ Most reluctantly Harriet put down the book, and the rope that for some reason she had been holding.
‘But it’s all right,’ cried Asobel, ‘I’ll help Edward,’ and she ran around the barn, jumping over saddles and candles and various boots. Her voice echoed back up towards the house after Harriet, ‘Eddie, do please let me bang in some nails. Also, Eddie, should you wish to know, I could tell you how to build a raft.’
* * *
The Squire’s coach and the Squire’s coachman were used to the country lanes. Lucretia Cooper, her elder daughter, and her niece were conveyed at speed past the empty hopfields and the autumnal hedgerows; the passengers swayed together in a most disagreeable manner as the wheels caught in the ruts and cracks in the road, but Lucretia and Augusta were used to such transport, they merely screamed a little at the biggest bumps and shouted extremely loudly, to be heard above the rattling of the carriage. Harriet was regaled with stories of the London-based Kingdom brothers: handsome, rich, and most of all unmarried. Lord Ralph, the heir, was a man-about-town who had not yet taken up his seat in the House of Lords; he was so handsome (they assured Harriet) that women swooned in his presence. Sir Benjamin, the younger brother, well, one knew not much about Benjamin except that he was handsome also, fair where his brother was dark; he was apparently immensely clever and had something to do with something scientific (they were not sure what). It was also said (Lucretia added this still loudly but rather dubiously, as if doubting its authenticity) that he was interested in birds. Augusta’s hat was a picture of cascading ribbons and fluttering feathers that were lifted sometimes in agitation, by the breeze of their journey or the content of their conversation.
At last the carriage rolled more sedately up the impeccable gravel drive; very elegant poplars lined the route and two liveried footmen (looking somewhat grander than the Squire’s only butler-footman, Donald) bowed and opened the carriage door to help the ladies to descend.
It was cold in the large, high-ceilinged drawing room. The three visitors shivered a little in their morning dresses and pulled their shawls more tightly around
their shoulders. Lady Kingdom, appearing almost immediately, was an imposing figure dressed again in black. Her husband, Harriet had been informed loudly in the coach, had died in 1839 but Lady Kingdom had never returned to more frivolous attire. A lace cap almost covered her greying hair and she looked at her guests severely. But severity could not dampen Lucretia’s excitement at being there. In her element, she exchanged views with her hostess on the success of Alice’s wedding and the vagaries of the weather and the fecklessness of servants; later they got on to old lace. Augusta joined in occasionally, as tutored at her finishing school, with a little word and a smile or a charming laugh. Harriet was conscious of steel eyes boring into her; she had no interest in the world in joining in and sat with her hands in her lap and a polite smile on her face, wishing they could perhaps have tea after the erratic coachride. When the conversation turned to a neighbouring family whose son was in unmentionable disgrace she looked covertly about her, feeling it might not be noticed. The drawing room had none of the adornments of her aunt’s more cluttered house. Here it was more like Bryanston Square, dark and sombre; a very large gloomy painting of a long-ago battle dominated one plain wall; from another a man she presumed to be Lord Kingdom stared down at them: as Harriet looked at him his grey eyes twinkled. In surprise she looked more carefully. Paintings of important men were always serious, befitting their importance, but something about the eyes broke the severity of the portrait (and indeed the room). She was still observing the picture when she found herself addressed.
‘Tell me, Miss Cooper,’ said Lady Kingdom without any preamble, ‘who was your mother? Your father’s father was of course known to me, the previous Squire,’ (Harriet thought she heard slight disdain in her tone) ‘but I know nothing of your mother’s family.’
‘My mother died when I was born, Lady Kingdom,’ Harriet answered politely. ‘She was Elizabeth MacDonald.’
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