Amber

by Deborah Challinor

  ‘No worry,’ Mundawuy said quietly. ‘This sand special. No meat left, no stink.’

  Kitty stared at him, almost as alarmed by his reading of her mind as by the thought of finding Wai only partly decomposed. But she nodded and let her gaze slide back to the grave. When the digging stopped a moment later she stepped forward, feeling her heart thud rapidly in her chest.

  She looked down.

  In the flickering yellow light of Rian’s lamp, she could see that the shroud in which they had buried Wai had been reduced to dusty shreds, the remaining wisps draped over her bones, which were indeed bare and pearly white. Surrounded by lengths of long black hair, her pale skull gleamed softly, and between her ribs, where her heart would have been, lay the greenstone earring her father had left with her. The sand had sifted down through her delicate bones but it was obvious that she hadn’t been disturbed. She might have been lying here for a thousand years, Kitty thought, not for just four and a half. She moved back, her eyes filling with tears.

  ‘Little bird girl,’ Mundawuy said.

  Gideon and Rian stepped carefully down into the grave while Kitty brought the box closer and opened it, resting the hinged lid on the sand. As they started to pass out Wai’s bones, Ropata began to intone another prayer. Suddenly not frightened any more, filled now with only an aching sadness for her lost friend, Kitty took each bone as it was handed up to her and laid it carefully in the silk-lined box. Last to go in was the greenstone earring. Kitty gently closed the lid and looked up at Rian.

  ‘All right?’ he asked.

  She nodded, although there was still a lump the size and sharpness of a peach pit in her throat; then she gave in and allowed herself to weep as Rian helped her to her feet. She leaned against him, grateful for his warmth, his strength and his understanding. Beside her Gideon was also weeping, although silently; the twin line of tears flowing down his wide, black cheeks reflected the lamplight, as though he were crying tiny threads of fire. Ropata had finished his karakia on a very wobbly note and was now intently studying the cave wall, blinking furiously.

  Mundawuy started speaking then in his own tongue, and Kitty saw that he was directing his words to a spot in the air above Wai’s empty grave. She looked away, not wanting to intrude: she knew enough now about native peoples to accept and respect the fact that most had their own ways of appeasing gods, thanking ancestors and soothing spirits.

  Gideon bent down and hoisted the box onto his wide shoulders, although Kitty thought that even she could have managed to carry it. Wai’s bones could hardly weigh much; it was her memory that lay heavily on them all.

  The day before the Katipo set sail for New Zealand, Kitty and Enya went shopping. Kitty bought slippers to go with her new dress, some rather fine bed linen, and several pair of men’s trousers, which she would tailor to her own shape as the trews she had been wearing over the past year were almost threadbare and coming apart at the seams. She also bought a boy’s cap, to keep her hair out of the way while she was working on deck. She had been using a head scarf but it tended to slide off, especially when her hair was freshly washed.

  After that, she found herself being steered by Enya into a pharmacy.

  ‘Why are we in here?’ she asked, mystified.

  ‘Because you can’t keep sailing about on the high seas the way you are and expect your complexion to remain as lovely it is,’ Enya replied. ‘And you’re not exactly a girl any more, are you?’

  Kitty knew Enya’s comments were meant affectionately, but she still felt somewhat put out. ‘What’s wrong with my complexion?’ she asked, a tad grumpily.

  ‘Nothing yet. Apart from those tiny crow’s feet starting at the corners of your eyes. That’s probably from squinting into the sun.’

  Kitty went over to a mirror mounted on the pharmacy wall and glared into it with her eyes wide open. ‘I can’t see any crow’s feet.’

  ‘That’s because you’re pulling a face. How old are you now?’

  ‘Twenty-five. But I only had my birthday last month.’

  ‘Then it’s time to start doing something before it’s too late.’ Enya took Kitty firmly by the elbow and led her over to the counter, behind which the pharmacist, a small man with neatly trimmed whiskers, stood patiently waiting.

  ‘Good afternoon, Mr Turvey,’ Enya said.

  ‘Good afternoon, Mrs Mason,’ he replied genially.

  ‘I buy all of my beauty preparations from Mr Turvey,’ Enya explained to Kitty. ‘He’s very skilled.’

  He must be, Kitty thought grudgingly, because her sister-in-law certainly had a flawless complexion, all smooth cream and pink. She was beginning to feel like an old hag now.

  ‘So what I think we’ll start with, Mr Turvey,’ Enya said, ‘is some of your best cold cream, the one with the lanolin base. That’s to use at night,’ she explained to Kitty. ‘It can be a bit greasy, so don’t use too much. Then perhaps we’ll try an oatmeal-and-buttermilk face mask, though you’ll have to use that quickly or it will go off. It leaves the face feeling marvellously clean and firm. And some witch-hazel eyewash for that puffiness we get when we’re tired.’

  We? Kitty thought: she had never seen Enya with puffy eyes. She knew hers were puffy, though, mostly from sitting in the hot, smoky public room of the Bird-in-Hand until after midnight the night before. But it had been worth it, because they’d caught up on the latest gossip about Walter Kinghazel’s murder. Apparently, so the farrier sitting at the next table had informed them—and he should know, he insisted, because he was on very friendly terms with one of the local constabulary—a new suspect had been identified, a man who had been seen in the same drinking establishment as Mr Kinghazel on the night of his murder, then a little later in the immediate vicinity of his house. Now all of Sydney was busy speculating about who the suspect might be.

  Enya leaned in close to Kitty’s face, studied it for a moment, then said, ‘Hmm.’

  Kitty steeled herself for more bad news.

  ‘You’re developing a few freckles,’ Enya declared. ‘We’ll take a large pot of your elderflower-and-zinc-sulphate cream, too, thank you, Mr Turvey. And is that a hint of ruddiness in your cheeks? We’d better have some of the white castile, cuttlefish and orris root soap as well.’

  ‘It’s not ruddiness, I’m just hot,’ Kitty insisted, but Enya ignored her.

  ‘Show me your hands.’

  Kitty reluctantly presented her hands for inspection.

  ‘Oh dear,’ Enya said. ‘And a large tub of almond-oil hand-cream. Now, have you started using cosmetics yet, Kitty?’

  Kitty was surprised to discover that she was faintly shocked, because everyone knew that only whores wore face paint. ‘No, I haven’t!’

  ‘All the best ladies do, you know.’

  ‘They do not!’

  ‘Yes they do, but it’s so subtly applied you’d never know.’

  ‘So why bother, then?’ Kitty retorted.

  ‘Because, applied artfully, cosmetics will always enhance the complexion. I’m only talking about a dusting of rice powder, a dab of lip balm and just a hint of rouge on the cheekbones.’

  ‘Well, as I’ve already got ruddy cheeks I won’t need rouge, will I?’ Kitty grumbled. ‘I do have some lip balm, though. But it’s a bit old. I think it’s gone rancid.’

  So Enya ordered some cosmetics and a small case of castile-and-chamomile soap for Kitty’s hair. ‘How long will all that take to make up?’ she asked the pharmacist.

  Mr Turvey looked at his pocket watch. ‘If you come back at four o’clock, I’ll have it ready by then. Will that suit you, Mrs Mason?’

  ‘Very well, thank you. Good day until then, Mr Turvey.’

  Outside the shop, Kitty said, ‘How much is all that going to cost? Because I still have some shopping to do yet.’

  ‘Oh, don’t worry, I’ll pay for it,’ Enya replied blithely. ‘As part of your wedding gift. And for your birthday.’

  Kitty felt embarrassed by her sister-in-law’s largesse. ‘But yo
u’ve already given me a beautiful gown.’

  ‘Yes, and a beautiful gown deserves a beautiful complexion, don’t you think?’

  Kitty walked on in silence for a moment, then suddenly stopped. ‘Enya, am I really looking that rough?’ Then another, far worse, suspicion hit her. ‘Do you think Rian might lose interest in me if I start to look old and weather-beaten? Is that it?’

  Enya looked aghast. ‘No, not at all! You look wonderful, Kitty, you always have. And I know my brother. He loves you very much and I don’t think a few wrinkles or a bit of windburn would make an ounce of difference to him, I really don’t.’ She frowned, and touched Kitty’s hand. ‘I’m sorry if I’ve offended you. I certainly didn’t mean to. Rian always said I can be a little too blunt at times, which is quite hypocritical coming from him, don’t you think?’

  Kitty smiled, because Enya was right. Then she said, ‘But do I look awful? Why do I need all of those preparations?’

  ‘I don’t think you need them, Kitty, I thought you might like them. You spend most of your time in the company of sailors, and, let’s face it, as fond of them as I am, they’re not the most urbane of men, are they? I just thought you might like to pamper yourself now and then, treat yourself like the beautiful woman you are. You might like to enjoy being feminine, I suppose is what I’m trying to say.’

  Kitty was absurdly touched. Enya was right, she did sometimes miss the things that most women of her age enjoyed—wearing pretty gowns and dressing her hair and what have you—but she simply didn’t have the time, especially when they were at sea. And she could hardly go shinnying up the ratlines in a tea gown with her hair elaborately coiffed and decorated with fresh flowers. The crew would laugh themselves silly. And the fact remained that, because she had spent first a year with the missionary women of Paihia, for whom personal appearance wasn’t a priority, then the next four on board the Katipo, she’d never really had the opportunity to learn the art of enhancing her femininity.

  She gave her sister-in-law a quick kiss on the cheek. ‘Thank you, Enya, I appreciate it, I really do.’

  They went into David Jones’s after that, and spent a very satisfying hour making more purchases: the store was quite small, but Mr Jones stocked something for everyone and hours could be whiled away just looking at everything he had for sale.

  In particular, Kitty wanted gifts for the people with whom she had lived in Paihia, assuming that they were still there, of course. For Marianne Williams, the wife of Reverend Henry Williams, she bought an ornately decorated case for holding spectacles; for her friend Rebecca Purcell, wife of a lay missionary, she found a lovely quilted sewing box; and for Jannah Tait, whose husband was also a lay missionary, she bought a beautiful recipe book, which she hoped wouldn’t be misinterpreted. She had never particularly liked Jannah, but she had respected her. And for her widowed Aunt Sarah—who certainly must be calling herself a widow by now, as to Kitty’s knowledge there had not been a single piece of news regarding George’s whereabouts since the day he had disappeared—she purchased a gorgeous bonnet in navy silk with black grosgrain ribbons and black feathers. She still wasn’t sure if she had forgiven her aunt, but she thought it better to go prepared for a reconciliation. If there wasn’t one, then she would simply keep the bonnet for herself.

  She also bought gifts for two men—Simon Bullock, another lay missionary serving at Waimate Mission, and Haunui. If, again, Simon was still there. It had once been assumed—even hoped by some—that Kitty would marry Simon Bullock. Neither had thought it a particularly good idea, for various reasons, but they had become firm friends and Simon had been very fond of Wai. For Haunui, Kitty purchased a very smart top hat in black silk, in the largest size she could find, as a sly reference to the straw sunhat he had once stolen from her; and for Simon she found a lovely cream linen shirt, in the hope that he might wear it instead of his usual motley garments.

  It was half past three when both women decided they were desperate for a drink and went into a coffee house. Kitty wilted onto a chair at the closest table, and sat fanning her face with her hand. Her chemise beneath her corset was stuck to her torso, and she suspected there were large wet patches under her arms.

  ‘Yes, it is very warm, isn’t it?’ Enya agreed, untying the ribbons on her bonnet and pushing strands of damp hair back from her forehead.

  Kitty surreptitiously blew down the front of her dress. ‘It’s nearly as bad as the Dutch East Indies, but not quite.’

  ‘I’ve never been there,’ Enya said. ‘Is it nice?’

  ‘I’m not sure I’d call it nice, but it’s certainly interesting.’

  A girl approached to take their orders, and Kitty waited until she had gone before she continued.

  ‘Enya?’

  ‘Mmm?’

  ‘Will you tell me about Rian’s first wife?’

  Enya looked at her. ‘Has he never said much?’

  ‘Not really. He told me before we were wed that he’d been married before, and that his wife had fallen overboard with their baby, and that he’d lost them both. It must have been absolutely awful for him.’

  ‘It was. He was inconsolable. He blamed himself, of course.’

  ‘Because she fell overboard? How could that have been Rian’s fault?’

  ‘She didn’t fall.’ Enya sat back. ‘Meagan was pretty and sweet and I believe Rian did love her, but she was never a strong girl, Kitty, not like you. She was quite fragile, and when I met her I thought Rian had made a mistake.’ She shook her head. ‘No, I knew he had. He left her in Dublin while he was at sea, but she pined for him and, frankly, made such a fuss that he finally gave in and took her with him. She became pregnant and after she had the baby she developed a mania. You’ve heard how some women can be afflicted like that after childbirth?’

  ‘Yes.’

  ‘Rian had convinced her to see a physician at their next port of call, but he was too late. She threw herself and the baby overboard one night and they both drowned.’

  Kitty felt sick. ‘Oh, my poor love,’ she whispered.

  Enya said, ‘Yes, it was a terrible shock. Rian believed it was his fault because he’d allowed her to sail with him, but it wasn’t. No one could have foreseen that.’ She paused. ‘And I didn’t know Meagan well enough to realise she had the type of character that might be prone to hysteria. If I had, I think I would have done everything I could to stop her sailing with him. But I’d been transported by then, anyway.’

  ‘Losing your wife would be bad enough but, oh God, to lose a child would be so much worse,’ Kitty said.

  Enya nodded. Then she said, ‘Kitty, pardon me if I’m being too personal, but have you thought much about a family?’

  ‘Having babies?’

  ‘Yes. You’ve been married for over three years now, and some people might say it’s time to start considering it.’

  ‘Well, they can say what they like,’ Kitty replied shortly, ‘but I’m not altogether sure it’s going to happen.’ And she told Enya about her suspicions about her ability, or lack thereof, to successfully conceive.

  But instead of the sympathy Kitty was expecting, Enya appeared relieved.

  ‘Well, that is sad,’ she said. ‘But I really think it might be for the best.’

  Kitty leaned back as the serving girl returned with their refreshments and set them on the table. When she’d gone, she asked, ‘Why do you say that?’

  ‘Because I don’t think Rian could bear to sail with a child on board again, after what happened with Meagan. Have you talked to him about having children?’

  Kitty stirred her coffee. ‘Not really. He doesn’t seem to want to discuss it.’

  ‘But you understand why, now?’

  ‘Well, yes, I understand it, but—’

  ‘And knowing my brother as well as I do,’ Enya interrupted, ‘I suspect that if a child were to come along, Rian would feel he would have to leave you, and it, ashore. And that would break his heart as much as losing the pair of you altogether.’ She look
ed beseechingly at Kitty. ‘So, if you want babies, please think very hard about how it might affect your marriage. I know it’s none of my business, but that’s my advice to you. I love my brother and I’m very fond of you, Kitty. I’d hate anything to come between you.’

  Kitty thought for a moment, then something else occurred to her. ‘Is what happened with Meagan the reason Rian didn’t want women on board the Katipo?’

  ‘Yes, he swore he would never allow it again. You must have meant a lot to him already by then, for him to have let you on board.’

  Remembering the mad, terrifying dash to get away from an enraged Tupehu and out to the Katipo before she sailed away, Kitty said, ‘He didn’t have a lot of choice, really.’

  ‘Oh, I think he did, Kitty. He could have put you down anywhere.’

  ‘I asked him to, but he said nowhere in New Zealand would be safe.’

  ‘See? He didn’t want to be parted from you even then.’

  And Kitty smiled, because she suddenly saw that it was true.

  Eight days after they had arrived in Sydney, the Katipo had been reloaded with an assortment of goods for trade in New Zealand: crates of soap, bales of shirts, duck trousers and blankets, sheet lead, dozens of bottles of turpentine and lin seed oil, nails, window glass, white lead and green paint, a range of iron gardening implements and—at Kitty’s request because she could clearly recall the women of Paihia bemoaning the fact that they couldn’t get nice fabric—a dozen bolts of quality assorted dress materials.

  Now they were all aboard, waiting for the tide to turn so the Katipo could be towed out into the harbour and set sail. Everything was shipshape and Wai’s box had been stowed in the hold, inside a larger trunk packed with straw. They expected the trip to take a brisk eleven or twelve days, as the tail wind was likely to favour them at this time of year.

  They lounged on deck, fanning sweaty faces and feeling sorry for Pierre who was in the galley preparing supper. Finally, the tugmaster came alongside and signalled that he was ready to tow them away from the dock and out into deeper water where they would be able to pick up the sea breeze and fill their sails.