by Sarah Lark
“Just come out,” she moaned. “Just come out and leave me in peace.”
After nearly two full days of torture—and, toward the end, of almost maniacal hatred for everyone who had done this to her—Gwyneira gave birth to a son. She felt nothing but relief.
“Such a beautiful little boy, miss!” Rongo beamed. “Like Matahorua said. Wait, I’ll wash him off, and then you can hold him. We’ll give him a little time before we cut the umbilical cord.”
Gwyneira shook her head wildly. “No, cut it, Rongo. And take him away. I don’t want to hold him. I want to sleep…have to rest…”
“But that you can do in minute. Look at baby first. Here, isn’t sweet?” Rongo had expertly cleaned the baby and laid it at Gwyneira’s breast. He was making his first suckling motions. Gwyneira pushed it away. Fine, it was healthy, it was complete with all its tiny fingers and toes, but she still didn’t like it.
“Take it away, Rongo!” she demanded with authority.
Rongo did not understand. “But where should I take it, miss? It need its mother!”
Gwyneira shrugged. “Take it to Mr. Warden. He wanted an heir; now he has it. He should figure out what to do with it. Just leave me in peace. Will it take long, Rongo? Oh, God, no, it’s starting again…” Gwyneira moaned. “It can’t really take another three hours before the afterbirth comes out.”
“Is now tired, miss. Is normal,” Kiri said in a conciliatory tone when an anxious Rongo came into the kitchen with the baby. Kiri and Moana were busy cleaning up after the dinner that Gerald had taken by himself. Little Marama slumbered in a small basket.
“That isn’t normal!” Rongo contradicted her. “Matahorua has brought thousands of children into the world, but no mother has acted like Miss Warden.”
“Oh, every mother is different,” maintained Kiri, thinking back to the morning when she had found Gwyneira lying on the floor in her room in a torn dress. There was a great deal to suggest that this child had been conceived that night. Gwyneira might have her reasons for not loving it.
“And what I now do with it?” Rongo asked hesitantly. “I can’t take it to Mr. Warden. He can’t have children around him.”
Kiri laughed. “Baby needs also milk, no whiskey. Start with that soon enough. No, no, Rongo, leave it just here.” Calmly she unbuttoned her servant’s dress, unveiled her plump breasts, and took the child from Rongo’s arms. “That now better.”
The newborn began to suckle greedily at once. Kiri rocked him gently. When he finally fell asleep at her breast, she laid him next to Marama in her basket.
“Tell miss, it well looked after.”
Gwyneira did not even want to know. She was already asleep and did not ask about the baby in the morning either. Only when Witi brought in a bouquet of flowers and gestured at the card hanging from them did she show any reaction at all.
“From Mr. Warden.”
An expression of revulsion and hatred, but also of curiosity, crossed her face. She tore the card open.
I thank you for Paul Gerald Terence.
Gwyneira screamed, flung the flowers across the room, and ripped the card into shreds.
“Witi!” she ordered the shocked butler. “Or better, Rongo, words won’t fail you! Go immediately to Mr. Warden, and tell him the baby will only be named Paul Terence, or I’ll strangle it in the crib.”
Witi did not understand, but Rongo looked horrified.
“I’ll tell him,” she promised quietly.
Three days later the Wardens’ heir was baptized Paul Terence Lucas. His mother stayed far from the celebration; she was indisposed. But her servants knew better. Gwyneira had yet to even look at the child.
7
“When are you finally going to introduce Paul to me?” Helen asked impatiently. Naturally, Gwyneira was not able to ride immediately after giving birth, and even now, four weeks later, she came with Fleur in the coach. However, this was her third visit, and to all appearances she had recovered from the strain of the delivery. Helen only wondered why she did not bring the baby along. After Fleur’s birth Gwyneira had not been able to wait to show off her little daughter to her friend. Yet she hardly mentioned her son. And even now, when Helen inquired about him explicitly, Gwyneira only made a dismissive gesture with her hand.
“Oh, soon. It’s tiresome, carrying him around, and he cries all the time when you take him away from Kiri and Marama. He feels comfortable with them, so what’s to be done?”
“Well, I would like to see him at least once,” admitted Helen. “What’s with you, Gwyn? Is there something wrong with him?”
Fleurette and Ruben had set off on an adventure right after Gwyneira’s arrival, and the Maori children would not be coming that day because of some celebration in their village. Helen figured that this was the ideal day to press Gwyneira to tell her the truth.
She shook her head disinterestedly. “What could be wrong with him? Everything is there. He’s a strong baby—and finally a boy. I’ve fulfilled the duty expected of me.” Gwyneira played with her teacup. “And now, tell me what’s new. Did the organ for the church in Haldon finally arrive? And will the reverend finally allow you to play it since he hasn’t found a male organist?”
“Forget the stupid organ, Gwyn.” Helen took refuge in impatient words but felt helpless. “I asked you about your baby! What is going on with you? You talk about every puppy with more excitement than you talk about Paul. And he’s your son, you know…you should be over the moon with happiness. And what about the proud grandfather? In Haldon they’re already whispering that something’s not right with the baby because Gerald hasn’t bought a single round to celebrate his grandson.”
Gwyneira shrugged. “I don’t know what Gerald’s thinking. Can we talk about something else now?”
Determined to relax and enjoy herself, she took a tea biscuit.
Helen would have liked to shake her.
“No, we can’t, Gwyn. You’ll tell me right now what’s going on! Something must have happened with you or the baby or Gerald. Are you angry with Lucas for leaving you?”
Gwyneira shook her head. “Oh that, that’s ancient history. He must have had his reasons.”
In reality she did not know how she felt about Lucas. Though she was angry because he had left her alone in this quandary, she could understand his flight. Yet Gwyneira had not felt much of anything since James’s departure and Paul’s birth; it was as though she were keeping her thoughts and feelings under a bell jar. If she did not feel anything, she would not be vulnerable.
“Those reasons didn’t have anything to do with you? Or with the baby?” Helen drilled further. “Don’t lie to me, Gwyn, you have to clear this up. Otherwise, everyone will be talking about it. In Haldon they’re already whispering, and the Maori are talking too. You know they raise their children communally; the word ‘mother’ does not have the same meaning for them as for us, and Kiri does not find it strange to care for Paul as well. But the lack of interest you show your baby…you should ask Matahorua for advice.”
Gwyneira shook her head. “What advice is she supposed to give me? Can she bring Lucas back? Can she—” She stopped short, shocked. She had nearly given away more than anyone in the world was ever allowed to know.
“Maybe she could help you get along better with the child,” Helen said. “Why don’t you breastfeed it? Are you not producing milk?”
“Kiri has enough milk in her for two,” Gwyneira said dismissively. “And I’m a lady. It’s not common for women like myself to breastfeed their children in England.”
“You’ve gone crazy, Gwyn.” Helen shook her head. She was slowly growing angry. “At least think of better excuses. No one believes all that about your being a lady. So, once again: did Lucas leave because you were pregnant?”
Gwyneira shook her head. “Lucas doesn’t know anything about the baby,” she said quietly.
“So you cheated on him? That’s what they’re saying in Haldon, and if it keeps up—”
“How
many times do I have to tell you, damn it? This damned baby is a Warden!” All of Gwyneira’s anger suddenly burst forth, and she began to sob. She didn’t deserve any of this. She had been so discreet about Fleur’s conception. No one, absolutely no one doubted her legitimacy. And now the real Warden was supposed to be the bastard?
Helen thought hard while Gwyneira wept. Lucas knew nothing of the pregnancy—and Gwyneira’s problems having children up until then lay, in Matahorua’s opinion, with him. So if a Warden had impregnated her with this child, then…
“Oh God, Gwyn…” Helen knew she could never speak her suspicion aloud, but now she could see it all clearly for herself. Gerald Warden must have impregnated Gwyneira—and it did not look like it had been accomplished with her friend’s approval. She took her friend in her arms to comfort her. “Oh, Gwyn, I was so stupid. I should have known right away. Instead, I’ve been torturing you with a thousand questions. But you…you have to forget all that now. Regardless of how Paul was conceived. He’s your son.”
“I hate him!” Gwyneira sobbed.
Helen shook her head. “Foolish girl. You can’t hate a little baby. Paul can’t help whatever happened. He has a right to his mother, Gwyn. Just like Fleur and Ruben. Do you think his conception was much fun for me?”
“At least you did it of your own will!” Gwyneira erupted.
“The baby doesn’t care. Please, Gwyn, at least try. Bring the little fellow along, introduce him to the women in Haldon—try to be a little bit proud of him. Then the love will come.”
The crying did Gwyneira good, and she was relieved that Helen knew but didn’t judge her. Her friend obviously had not thought for even a moment that Gwyneira would have slept with Gerald of her own free will—a nightmare that had plagued Gwyneira ever since she had become pregnant. Since James had left, a rumor to that effect had been making the rounds in the stables, and Gwyneira was only happy that it had escaped James McKenzie. She could not have handled James asking her about it. Gwyneira’s “breeder self” could follow the thinking that had caused her employees and friends to come to this conclusion. After Lucas’s failure had become common knowledge, conceiving the heir with Gerald would have been the next best thing. Gwyneira wondered why the thought had not crossed her mind when she was in search of a father for her first child—perhaps because Lucas’s father acted so aggressively toward her that she feared every conversation and every moment alone with him. But Gerald might have toyed with the idea himself, and perhaps that was also a reason for his drinking and his anger: quite possibly everything had served to keep his forbidden lust—and the monstrous idea of simply siring his own “grandson”—from raising its head at all.
Gwyneira was lost in thought as she directed the carriage home. Fortunately, she did not need to keep Fleur occupied; she rode proudly and happily on her own next to the chaise. George Greenwood had presented little Paul with a pony for his christening—he must have planned it far in advance and ordered the little mare while he was still in England, just after learning of Gwyneira’s pregnancy. Fleurette had naturally taken the horse for herself right away and had gotten along very well with it from the first. There was no way she would give it up when Paul got older. Gwyneira would have to think of something, but there was time for that. Before anything else, she had to address the problem of Paul being regarded as a bastard in Haldon. It wouldn’t do to have the Warden heir being whispered about. Gwyneira had to defend her honor and her good name.
When she finally arrived at Kiward Station, she made straight for her rooms, looking for the baby. As expected, she found his crib empty. After looking around, she discovered Kiri in the kitchen with both infants, one on each breast.
Gwyn forced herself to smile.
“There’s my boy,” she remarked kindly. “When he’s done, can I…can I hold him awhile, Kiri?”
If this desire struck Kiri as surprising, she did not show it. She just beamed at Gwyneira. “Of course! Will be happy to see mama.”
But Paul was not happy at all and started bawling as soon as Gwyneira took him from Kiri’s arms.
“He not mean it like that,” Kiri murmured, embarrassed. “Is just not used.”
Gwyneira rocked the baby in her arms and strove to suppress the impatience rising up within her. Helen was right; the baby couldn’t do anything about it. And when she looked at him objectively, Paul was a handsome child. He had large, clear eyes, still blue and round as marbles. His hair was dark, curly, and unruly, and the noble shape of his mouth reminded Gwyneira of Lucas. It shouldn’t be all that difficult to learn to love this baby…but before anything else, she needed to clean out the rumor mill.
“I’ll be holding him more often, so he gets used to me,” she declared to the amazed but delighted Kiri. “And I’m taking him with me tomorrow to Haldon. You can come along if you like. As his nanny.”
Then at least he won’t scream the whole time, Gwyneira thought, when the baby still had not calmed down after a half hour in his birth mother’s arms. Only after she laid him down again in the improvised baby basket—Kiri would have loved to carry the babies around with her constantly, but Gerald did not allow that during work—did the little one calm himself. Moana sang a song for the children while she cooked. For the Maori, every female relative of the appropriate generation was considered a mother.
Mrs. Candler and Dorothy were delighted to finally have the Wardens’ heir presented to them. After giving Fleur a lollipop, Mrs. Candler could not get enough of little Paul. Gwyneira understood clearly that a test of his physical health was being carried out, and so she was happy to allow her old friend to take Paul out of his blankets and weigh him in her arms. The little boy was in fine spirits. He and Marama had enjoyed the rocking of the carriage. Both children had slept sweetly during the trip, and just before arriving, Kiri had fed them again. Now both babies were awake. Paul looked at Mrs. Candler with big, attentive eyes and moved his legs energetically. The Haldon housewives’ suspicions that the baby might be handicapped were thus definitively laid to rest. All that remained were the concerns about his paternity.
“The dark hair! And the long eyelashes! Just like his grandfather,” cooed Mrs. Candler.
Gwyneira also pointed out the shape of Paul’s lips, as well as his definite chin cleft, which both Lucas and Gerald shared.
“Has the father heard about his luck yet?” another matron butted in, having just interrupted her shopping to have a look at the baby. “Or is he still…oh, forgive me; that’s really none of my business.”
Gwyneira smiled sunnily. “But of course! Although his well-wishes haven’t had time to make their way back to us yet. My spouse is in England, Mrs. Brennerman—without my father-in-law’s approval. Hence all the secrecy, you know. Lucas received an invitation from a well-known art gallery to display his works there.”
That was not even a lie. In truth, George Greenwood had been able to interest several London galleries in Lucas’s work—though Gwyneira had first heard this news after Lucas had left Kiward Station. But she didn’t need to tell them everything.
“Oh, that’s wonderful.” Mrs. Candler was delighted. “And here we thought…oh, forget it! And the proud grandfather? The men in the pub missed his celebratory merrymaking.”
Gwyneira forced herself to exhibit a relaxed but slightly concerned face.
“Mr. Warden has not been feeling well lately,” she explained, which was pretty close to the truth, since her father-in-law fought daily battles with the whiskey he’d enjoyed the night before. “But naturally, he’s still planning a party. Perhaps another big garden party since the christening was a rather spartan affair. We’ll make up for it, right, Pauly?” She took the baby from Mrs. Candler and thanked heaven it did not scream.
And that was it. She had survived it. The conversation now shifted from Kiward Station to the wedding being planned for Dorothy and the Candlers’ youngest son. Two years earlier, the oldest had married Francine, the young midwife, and the middle son was off explor
ing the world for the first time. Mrs. Candler reported that they had just received a letter from him from Sydney.
“I think he’s in love,” she said with an impish smile.
Gwyneira was truly happy for the young couple, though she could vividly picture what was coming Mrs. Candler’s way. The rumor, “Leon Candler is marrying a convict girl from Botany Bay,” would soon eclipse the rather meager sensation, “Lucas Warden is displaying art in London.”
“Just send Dorothy to me for her wedding dress,” Gwyneira said as she bid them a friendly farewell. “I once promised her I’d lend her mine when the time came.”
Hopefully it will at least bring her luck, thought Gwyneira as she steered Kiri and her brood back to the coach.
Well, that had been a success.
Now for Gerald…
“We’re throwing a party!” Gwyneira declared, having hardly set foot in the salon. With a look of determination, she took the whiskey bottle out of Gerald’s hand and locked it behind the glass in the liquor cabinet. “We’re going to start planning it right away, and you’ll need a clear head for that.”
Gerald already seemed a little foggy. Despite his glassy eyes, he evidently could still follow Gwyneira.
“Wha…what is there to celebrate, exactly?” he inquired drunkenly.
Gwyneira glared daggers at him. “The birth of your ‘grandson’!” she said. “Most people would call that a happy event, if you care to recall. And all of Haldon is waiting for you to honor it appropriately.”