Amber

by Deborah Challinor

  Kitty eyed Eliza’s small frame, tiny hands and feet, and golden hair, and decided she probably had to agree.

  ‘We are all God’s children, Eliza,’ Mrs Williams remarked, squinting despite her spectacles as she threaded a needle.

  Jannah Tait turned a sock inside-out and inspected the hole she was about to darn. ‘Mind you, things have been somewhat hectic here, too.’

  ‘Yes, it has been rather an anxious time,’ Eliza agreed, darting over to a plant stand to stop Samuel from pulling it over on himself. ‘Why aren’t these babies sleepy? They nearly always sleep after they’ve been fed.’

  ‘You’ve heard about Hone Heke’s antics, Kitty, I presume?’ Jannah asked.

  ‘We’ve heard various versions of what’s been happening, yes,’ Kitty said.

  Jannah selected a length of grey wool from her workbox. ‘Well, I feel he is behaving in a very belligerent and disruptive manner. It shows a marked lack of gratitude on his part, if you ask me. No good will come of it, I’m sure.’

  ‘From cutting down the flagstaff, do you mean?’ Kitty asked.

  ‘Actually, Heke himself did not actually cut down the flagstaff,’ Sarah said. ‘It was Te Haratua apparently, his second in command.’

  ‘So they say. It’s the same thing, though, isn’t it?’ Jannah insisted.

  ‘I think so, too,’ Charlotte Dow agreed, her head bent low over her embroidery. ‘A very alarming man, that John Heke. And arrogant.’

  Mrs Williams snipped a piece of thread with her sewing scissors. ‘Perhaps we might remember that the flagstaff was given by Heke himself nine years ago, specifically to fly the ensign of the Confederation of the United Chiefs and Tribes. Also that it was moved from Waitangi to Maiki Hill across the bay without his permission. Therefore, given the economic restrictions the Crown has imposed upon the Maoris since the treaty, particularly here in Northland, one can imagine what effect the flying of the Union Jack from that very flagstaff day after day might have had on his sensibilities.’ She sighed. ‘But I fear that you are right, Jannah. No good will come of it.’

  Rebecca added, ‘And he has alienated Tamati Waka Nene, so now there’s a fear that tribal warfare will resurface, on top of everything else.’

  The women were silent for a long moment, concentrating on their work. Then, recalling something that Enya had mentioned while they’d been in Sydney, Kitty asked, ‘What happened at Wairau?’

  Jannah and Rebecca exchanged an oh-dear-wasn’t-that-dreadful glance, and Rebecca said, ‘It was over disputed land, near Marlborough. It was originally Te Rauparaha’s land but the New Zealand Company believed they had purchased it, although in retrospect they clearly had not, and sent a party to survey it. Te Rauparaha opposed the survey, so thirty armed settlers—’

  ‘Fifty armed settlers,’ Jannah amended, her darning forgotten for the moment.

  Charlotte also interrupted. ‘And it was straight after that terrible murder at Cloudy Bay.’

  Jannah frowned. ‘No, it was six months after that.’

  Kitty turned to Mrs Williams, who explained, ‘A Maori woman, Rangihaua Kuika, and her baby were murdered by a European whaler. He was tried under British law but went free. Most unfortunate.’

  ‘Anyway,’ Rebecca went on, ‘fifty armed settlers arrived to arrest Te Rauparaha—’

  ‘And chief Te Rangihaeata,’ Charlotte said, interrupting again.

  Jannah stabbed her sock with a darning needle and said sharply, ‘Charlotte, please let Rebecca finish’, apparently forgetting that she had interrupted the story twice herself.

  Rebecca sent her a grateful look. ‘Te Rauparaha resisted arrest, fatal shots were fired, and some of the arresting party were captured. But when it was discovered that one of those killed was Te Rongo, Te Rangihaeata’s wife and Te Rauparaha’s daughter, the twenty captured settlers were—’

  ‘Were murdered,’ Charlotte blurted. ‘Including Captain Wakefield himself, who was to be head of the new town!’

  Jannah rolled her eyes.

  ‘And how many Maoris were murdered?’ Kitty asked quietly.

  ‘Oh, no, no Maoris were murdered,’ Charlotte exclaimed. ‘But six were killed in battle.’

  ‘So how is it that they were “killed in battle,” but the settlers were “murdered”?’ Kitty said.

  Charlotte looked slightly confused for a moment. ‘Because the settlers were prisoners when they were killed. The Maoris weren’t. They were resisting arrest.’

  Unable to restrain her anger any longer towards the silly, ignorant woman, who after all was supposed to be an advocate for the Maoris, and a Christian one at that, Kitty enquired icily, ‘But why wouldn’t they resist, if they were being arrested for trying to protect their own land?’ Charlotte opened her mouth to reply but Kitty kept on. ‘And hadn’t Te Rongo just been killed, and six months before that Rangihaua Kuika and her child, without justice being served to their murderer? Have you not heard of utu, Mrs Dow?’

  ‘Yes, of course, but—’ Charlotte began, but was spared from digging herself any deeper when Luke gave a resounding burp and regurgitated milk and puréed kumara all over Kitty’s sleeve.

  ‘Oh Lord!’ Eliza cried, mortified, as she hurried over to Kitty and hastily mopped at the splatter on her dress. ‘I’m terribly sorry.’

  ‘Don’t worry,’ Kitty replied, patting Luke on the back. ‘It’s only sick.’

  ‘You’ll need to sponge that or it will smell,’ Sarah said unhelpfully.

  Eliza gathered up Luke and he gurgled cheerfully, clearly much happier.

  Still dabbing half-heartedly at the stain with Eliza’s cloth, and deciding it wasn’t worth arguing with Charlotte Dow, Kitty asked Mrs Williams, ‘So what happened after Hone Heke cut down the flagstaff?’

  ‘Oh, there was a huge fuss in the press and Bishop Selwyn organised a meeting at Waimate of local chiefs, at which Heke agreed to erect a new flagstaff to replace the one he’d cut down. I believe he handed over a small number of arms as well. But Governor FitzRoy had already requested military aid, and one morning a contingent of two-hundred-and-fifty imperial troops appeared across the bay.’

  ‘I hadn’t realised there were that many soldiers in New Zealand,’ Kitty said. There certainly hadn’t been when she’d left in 1840.

  ‘There weren’t,’ Rebecca explained. ‘These were seamen and marines from the warship HMS Hazard, and soldiers from Point Britomart in Auckland, and a hundred-and-fifty men sent over from the 96th Regiment stationed in Sydney.’

  ‘They’re not still here, are they?’ Kitty asked. ‘We didn’t see any military vessels when we put in.’

  Rebecca said, ‘No, they returned to Auckland when Heke capitulated and matters seemed to be in hand.’

  ‘And since then Hone Heke has been going around stirring up anti-British sentiment?’

  ‘More or less,’ Mrs Williams replied. ‘Along with a few other rather prominent chiefs, which does not bode well, and some very hot-headed young men.’

  ‘Do you think trouble is on the way?’ Kitty said bluntly.

  Mrs Williams looked at her over the top of her spectacles. ‘Unfortunately, Kitty, yes, I do.’

  Chapter Six

  It rained torrentially and almost solidly for the following two weeks, but it was a warm rain that turned clothes and bread alike mouldy overnight, prevented freshly laundered linen from drying properly, and sluiced mud and leaves across walking paths so that several people, braving the deluges, slipped and turned their ankles, and, in one case, broke a wrist. As a result, Mrs Williams was kept busy preparing poultices made from boiled flax root and the oil of pulped titoki berries, and handing out arnica pills. The rain also confined the mission’s children indoors, making them irritable and fidgety, a state compounded by the discovery that many of them were suffering an outbreak of threadworm. Subsequently everyone at the mission, including visitors, had to be treated with an aperient of castor oil and sal volatile, then administered three or four grains of santonin. Although th
e treatment was guaranteed to clear the bowel of any remaining eggs, most of the adults also became irritable after repeated trips to the privy.

  The rain prevented Rian from scouting out possible sources of kauri to ship to Sydney, but Kitty had the distinct impression that he was in no hurry to leave Paihia. He was, of course, waiting to see what might happen with Hone Heke, as she had known he would since they’d first heard of the growing tension. But Sarah seemed glad to have them, and Kitty had to admit that it was very pleasant to spend time in the company of women she knew and cared for. Well, mostly cared for—Charlotte Dow had continued to irritate her and that state of affairs showed no sign of abating.

  Kitty had asked Rebecca whether Mrs Dow was normally so galling or was it perhaps just the mugginess and the never-ending rain? And Rebecca had smiled and replied that Charlotte was indeed a unique spirit, but that the teachings of the Society strongly favoured the practices of tolerance and acceptance of others. Or had Kitty forgotten that? No, Kitty said, she hadn’t, but Mrs Dow appeared to have done so, and that was a particularly distressing thing to see in a missionary. Rebecca had pointed out that Charlotte’s heart was in the right place, and asked if Kitty would mind checking whether baby Joshua’s nappy was wet, which meant that she didn’t wish to discuss Charlotte any more.

  But by 8 January the sun was out again in all its stewing heat and turning the bush into a steaming wonderland. The children were instantly happy and consequently so were the adults, delighted to send little and not-so-little ones off with a picnic lunch for an adventure. They were farewelled, however, with the warning that were they to encounter any Maoris they did not recognise, or even a war party, they were to run home straight away. Heke and some of his followers had been in the area lately, and had in fact dined at Pukera the evening before last, and while the missionaries were confident that he wouldn’t attack mission children, or indeed the mission itself, they believed it would be prudent to keep their children out of his way.

  On the following day, the temperature was high even at seven in the morning, and when Kitty awoke, her hair plastered to her neck with sweat, it was to discover that Rian wasn’t next to her. She rose, slipped into her cotton robe and padded down the wooden stairs, yawning and tying her hair back with a piece of ribbon. The parlour was empty except for Bodie, stretched out in the sun on Sarah’s chaise.

  ‘Hello, little madam,’ Kitty said. ‘I thought you were out at Pukera with Pierre?’

  Bodie opened one eye, yawned and meowed at the same time, then rolled onto her back so that her tummy could be tickled.

  Kitty obliged, but confided, ‘I’m not sure Aunt Sarah really wants you depositing black hairs all over her cream upholstery. Actually, wouldn’t she be your great-aunt? By marriage?’

  ‘Cats don’t have aunts,’ Rian said from the dining room.

  Kitty found him at the table in his shirtsleeves, eating a large plate of porridge swimming in milk and honey. She sat down.

  ‘I didn’t hear you get up.’

  Rian ran his spoon around the edge of his plate. ‘Then you shouldn’t snore so loudly, sweetheart, should you?’

  ‘I don’t snore. Has Aunt Sarah risen yet?’

  ‘She’s been down, but I assume she’s getting dressed now.’

  Kitty reached for the teapot, tilted it over a cup and frowned when nothing came out. ‘Damn, is there no more?’

  ‘I believe Ngahuia’s just refilled the kettle,’ Rian mumbled through his porridge.

  Kitty took the pot and went to find out: the kettle was indeed heating on the grate over the kitchen fire but Ngahuia was nowhere to be seen. Neither was Rangimarie, Sarah’s other, extraordinarily timid, housegirl. But when Kitty went outside she saw them both, crouching in the kitchen garden and talking, their heads close together.

  She called out to Ngahuia and both girls started and looked up, then Ngahuia rose and limped hurriedly towards the house.

  ‘Good morning, Missus Kitty,’ she said.

  ‘Good morning, Ngahuia,’ Kitty replied, wondering why the girl looked so guilty.

  ‘Would you like me to serve you the pareti?’

  ‘Only if you’re not busy.’

  Kitty followed Ngahuia into the kitchen and emptied the teapot into the bowl where Sarah saved the old leaves to dye her crochet and tatting, then opened the tea canister. Rangimarie came in a moment later with four string beans in her hand. Surely it hadn’t required the pair of them to pick four beans?

  ‘Are the beans not very good at the moment?’ she asked. ‘Was it the rain, do you think?’

  Both girls stared.

  Kitty tried again. ‘Do you think the rain has spoiled the beans? Stopped the flowers from setting, I mean?’ She inclined her head towards Rangimarie’s hand. ‘You don’t seem to have found many.’

  Ngahuia ducked her head and mumbled, ‘No, we did not find many.’

  Suspecting that something was amiss, Kitty touched her arm. ‘Is something the matter? Can I be of help?’

  The boiling kettle hissed onto the fire and Ngahuia lifted it off and poured water into the teapot, all the while avoiding Kitty’s gaze.

  ‘Ngahuia?’

  Rangimarie turned to leave the kitchen but Kitty grabbed her sleeve. ‘Tell me, please.’

  ‘It is nothing, thank you,’ Rangimarie mumbled. Gently but firmly disengaging Kitty’s hand, she walked out.

  Ngahuia, her head still down, said, ‘I will bring your pareti and the tea.’

  Kitty regarded her worriedly for a moment, then went back into the dining room and sat down again.

  ‘They’re in an odd mood this morning.’

  ‘Who?’ Rian asked.

  ‘Ngahuia and Rangimarie. Rian, I think something might be happening. Something bad.’

  ‘It is,’ Rian replied, pushing his empty plate away.

  Kitty’s heart lurched. ‘What?’

  ‘Pierre came by earlier this morning to say that there have been rumours out at Pukera that Hone Heke may be about to make another attack on the flagstaff.’ He sighed and rubbed his hands over his unshaven face. ‘Christ knows what FitzRoy will do. Send every bloody soldier he can get his hands on up here, I expect.’

  Ngahuia appeared and set Kitty’s plate of porridge in front of her, then poured a cup of tea. She turned to go, then paused and said, ‘I am sorry. I did not mean to be rude.’

  ‘Oh Ngahuia, it doesn’t matter,’ Kitty replied. ‘I understand.’ When Ngahuia had gone, she said, ‘They wouldn’t tell me what was wrong, but obviously they’ve heard the rumour too.’

  Rian crossed his arms. ‘Well, we’ll have to stay. At least until things settle down.’

  Kitty was silent for some time, staring down at her porridge. Then she said, ‘Why do we have to stay, Rian? I sympathise with the people and what’s happened to them since the treaty, you know that, but it’s not our fight. And apart from that, do you really think there is anything we could do that would make a difference?’

  Rian shrugged. ‘I don’t know yet.’

  ‘And if we did get involved—’

  ‘No, Kitty, you won’t be getting involved, no matter what eventuates.’

  Kitty didn’t bite. ‘All right, if you got involved, you would be branded as a traitor to the Crown and the punishment for that is hanging, Rian. I am not going through that again.’

  ‘How can I be a traitor to the Crown?’ he asked innocently.

  Kitty gave him an exasperated look.

  ‘What? I don’t have any allegiance to the British. I’m Irish, remember?’

  ‘So if you’re not Maori and you’re not British, why do you want to get involved?’

  Rian said stubbornly, ‘Because there’s a principle at stake here.’

  Kitty sighed inwardly: Rian and his damned principles! ‘Well, what is it, then?’

  ‘You know very well what it is. It’s wrong for one people to force another to submit to their rule. You can’t just go around subjugating whole countries! And t
hat’s what the Crown is doing. Bloody English, I hate them!’

  ‘Rian, I’m English!’

  ‘No you’re not. You’re…you’re Kitty.’ Rian paused. ‘And I’m not sure you really understand what all of this means.’

  Kitty thought she did, actually. ‘Well, what do you think it means?’

  He took her hand. ‘What it means, love, is that the Maoris will lose their way of life for ever. It means they’ll be persecuted for their beliefs, even killed for them, like the Catholics are in Ireland. It means they’ll be forced to live and die by a system of law weighted so heavily against them that they’ll never be able to extricate themselves from it.’

  Kitty frowned, recalling uncomfortably that Enya had been tried and transported to Australia by an English judge. And so had Mick’s mother, Biddy Doyle, although Kitty had never found out what Mrs Doyle’s crime had been.

  Rian was becoming more and more passionate as he spoke. ‘It also means they’ll become deprived of almost all political and economic power, and that’s happening already, isn’t it? And it means their spirit will be crushed and, believe me, that’s the hardest thing of all to recover from. Kitty, listen to me: the English have been interfering in Ireland and destroying it for nearly seven hundred years. Do you want that to happen here?’

  Kitty blinked. ‘Of course not, Rian. You know I don’t.’

  ‘Well, it will if this isn’t stopped.’

  ‘But you can’t stop it, Rian. You’re only one person.’

  ‘No, I know, but I must do something.’

  With a sinking heart, Kitty knew he wasn’t going to be dissuaded. She dipped her spoon into her congealing porridge and stirred it listlessly. ‘Will you promise me one thing?’

  ‘If I can.’

  ‘Don’t take up arms against the British. Please. They’ll kill you one way or another.’

  Rian leaned across the corner of the table and kissed her cheek. ‘Don’t worry, mo ghrá, I’m not going to take up arms for or against anyone. But I will do what I can.’

  Kitty pushed her plate away, her appetite gone.