In the Land of the Long White Cloud

by Sarah Lark

  Fleur’s petite figure and loose hair gave her an elfin appearance. Though she looked like her mother and shared a similar temperament, Fleurette’s radiance was all her own. The girl seemed more approachable and more submissive than the young Gwyneira had been, and a glow rather than a provocative spark issued from her golden-brown eyes.

  The men in the room stared, enthralled, as she made her entrance. While the other men appeared enchanted, Gwyneira recognized an expression of naked desire in John Sideblossom’s gaze. He held Fleurette’s hand a moment too long for her taste when he greeted the girl politely.

  “Is there also a Mrs. Sideblossom?” Gwyneira asked when the hosts and guests had finally sat down to dinner. Gwyneira had assigned herself to John Sideblossom as a dining partner, but the man took so little notice of her that it bordered on rudeness. He only had eyes for Fleur, who was engaged in a rather dull conversation with the elder Lord Barrington. The lord had handed over his business ventures in Christchurch to his son and retired to a farm in the Canterbury Plains, where he was raising sheep and horses with modest success.

  John Sideblossom cast a glance at Gwyneira as though he had just noticed her for the first time.

  “No, there’s no longer a Mrs. Sideblossom,” he replied. “My wife died three years ago giving birth to my son.”

  “I’m sorry to hear that,” Gwyneira replied, having rarely meant a platitude so honestly. “For the child as well—did I understand correctly that he lived?”

  The farmer nodded. “Yes, my son’s now practically being raised by the Maori help. Not a particularly good solution, but while he’s still little, it works. As time goes on, however, I need to look around for something else. It’s not easy to find a suitable girl.” As he spoke, he fixed his eyes again on Fleur, which angered and irritated Gwyneira. The man talked about girls like a pair of breeches!

  “Is your daughter already engaged to someone?” he inquired drily. “She seems to be a well-bred girl.”

  Gwyneira was so taken aback she hardly knew what to say. The man did not waste words.

  “Fleurette is still very young,” she finally replied evasively.

  John Sideblossom shrugged. “There’s nothing wrong with that. I’ve always been of the opinion that you can’t marry them off soon enough; otherwise, they just get stupid ideas. And birthing is easier while they’re young. The midwife told me that back when Marylee died. Marylee was already twenty-five.”

  After these last words, he turned away from Gwyneira. Something that Gerald just said must have caught his attention, and he was soon deep in a heated conversation with several other livestock farmers.

  Gwyneira appeared calm, but she was boiling with rage inside. She was accustomed to girls being wooed for dynastic or financial reasons rather than for their personalities. But this fellow had taken it too far. Even just the way he spoke of his late wife: “Marylee was already twenty-five.” He made it sound as though she would have died of old age soon anyway, regardless of whether she had given her husband a child first or not.

  Later, as the guests formed loose groups in the salon to finish the last of the table conversation, before the ladies retired to tea and liquor in Gwyneira’s salon and the gentlemen to cigars and whiskey in Gerald’s sanctuary, John Sideblossom made a beeline for Fleurette.

  Gwyneira, who could not break away from her conversation with Lady Barrington, watched nervously as he spoke to Fleur. From all appearances, he was behaving courteously and turning on his charm. Fleurette smiled shyly at first but then let herself be drawn freely into conversation. Judging from the expression on Fleur’s face, Gwyneira guessed that the pair were talking about dogs and horses. Otherwise, she could not imagine Fleur looking so attentive and engaged. When Gwyneira finally succeeded in tearing herself away from Lady Barrington and strolled nonchalantly in their direction, her suspicions were confirmed.

  “I’d be happy to show you the mare, of course. If you like, we could go for a ride together tomorrow. I got a look at your horse; he’s quite lovely!” Fleurette seemed to have taken a liking to the visitor. “Or are you leaving tomorrow?”

  Most of those present would be riding back to their farms the next day. The organization of the punitive expedition had been determined, and the men proposed to raise a number of people in the area willing to take part. Several of the sheep breeders wanted to go along themselves; others promised to contribute a few armed riders.

  John Sideblossom shook his head though. “No, Miss Warden, I’ll be staying a few days. We agreed to assemble the men from Christchurch here and then to ride to my farm together. That will be the home base for all further activities. That being the case, I’m happy to take you up on your offer. My stallion, by the way, has some Arab blood. I was able to buy an Arab a few years ago in Dunedin and crossed our farm horses with him. The results have been very nice—sometimes a bit lightweight though.”

  At first Gwyneira was relieved. As long as they were discussing horse breeding, he would behave himself. And perhaps Fleur actually liked him. John Sideblossom was well respected and owned roughly as much land as Gerald Warden, although it was not as good. He was rather old for Fleur but even his age lay within the bounds of acceptability. If only she didn’t have such an uneasy feeling about him. If the man didn’t seem so cold and unfeeling. Then, of course, there was the situation with Ruben O’Keefe. Fleurette certainly wouldn’t take leave of her love without a fight.

  However, Fleur seemed to take pleasure in John Sideblossom’s company over the next few days. The man was a keen rider, which Fleur liked; he told exciting stories; and he proved to be a good listener. Beyond that, he had charm and a willful manner that the girl found attractive. Fleur laughed when, while skeet shooting with Gerald, John Sideblossom did not aim for the clay pigeon, but instead shot one of the shabbiest roses in the garden from its stem.

  “The rose of roses!” he said—true, it was not very original, but Fleur appeared flattered. Paul, however, looked out of sorts. He had looked up to John Sideblossom ever since hearing Gerald’s stories about him, and now that he knew him in person, Paul practically worshipped him. John Sideblossom, however, hardly gave the boy a second look. Either he was drinking and talking to Gerald, or he was trying to win over Fleur. Paul considered how he could manage to reveal his sister’s true face, but no opportunity to do so had presented itself yet.

  John Sideblossom was a rash, impulsive man who was used to getting what he wanted. He had selected Kiward Station in order to mobilize the Canterbury Plains’ sheep breeders, but once he got to know Fleurette Warden, he quickly decided to resolve another outstanding problem. He needed a new wife—and he had unexpectedly met a suitable candidate here. She was young, desirable, from a good family, and clearly well educated. At least for the first few years, he’d be able to save on a tutor for little Thomas. An alliance with the Wardens would also open more doors to high society in Christchurch and Dunedin. If he had understood correctly, Fleurette’s mother even came from British nobility. The girl seemed to be a bit wild, and the mother obviously could be imperious. John Sideblossom certainly never would have allowed his wife to participate in the management of the farm, let alone direct the herding. But that was Warden’s problem; he’d put Fleurette in her place soon enough. That said, she was welcome to bring along any animals she loved—that mare would bear fantastic foals, and the sheepdogs were a definite gain too. But as soon as Fleurette got pregnant, she would not be able to handle the animals. He was taking care to get on Gracie’s good side—which earned him even more points with Fleurette. After three days, the farmer was convinced that Fleur would not refuse his proposal. And Gerald Warden should be happy to marry the girl off so well.

  Gerald had mixed feelings about John’s proposal. This time the girl did not seem disinclined—Gerald even thought his granddaughter was flirting rather shamelessly with his old friend. Yet his relief was tinged with envy. John would have what he, Gerald, could not. John would not have to take Fleur by force;
she would give herself freely. Gerald drowned his forbidden thoughts in whiskey.

  At least he was prepared when his friend came to him on the fourth day of his stay at Kiward Station and announced his marital intentions.

  “You know I can provide for her, old friend,” Sideblossom said. “Lionel Station is big. Granted, the manor house is not quite as grand as this place, but it’s comfortable. We have plenty of servants. The girl will be cared for tip to toe. Of course she’ll have to take care of the boy herself. But she’ll have her own soon enough, I’m sure—and she can see to two as easily as one. Do you have any objections to my making a proposal?” John poured himself a whiskey.

  Gerald shook his head and let John pour him one too. John was right; what he was proposing was the best solution. “I have no objections. The farm does have little in the way of liquid assets for a dowry. Would you be content with a flock of sheep? We could also discuss the possibility of two mares for breeding.”

  The two men spent the next hour in amiable negotiations over Fleurette’s dowry. Both of them knew every trick in the book when it came to the livestock negotiations. The offers just went back and forth. Gwyneira, who was once again eavesdropping, was not unsettled; to her ears it sounded like they were injecting new blood into the flocks on Lionel Station. Fleurette’s name was not mentioned once.

  “I mu…must warn you, however,” Gerald said after the men had finally reached an agreement and confirmed the amount of the dowry with a handshake and sealed it with a great deal more whiskey. “The gi…girl is not ea…easy. Had something for a neighbor boy…just nonsense. The boy has…sodded off in the meantime. But you kn…know how skirts are…”

  “I did not get the impression that Fleur was uninterested.” Sideblossom was surprised. As always, he seemed completely sober even now, although they had long since emptied the first bottle of whiskey. “Why don’t we just strike while the iron is hot and ask her? Go, call for her. I’m in the mood for an engagement kiss! And the other farmers should be back by tomorrow. Then we can announce it right away.”

  Fleurette, who had just returned from riding and was preparing to change for dinner, was surprised by Witi’s shy knock on her door.

  “Miss Fleur, Mr. Warden wishes to speak with you. He…how you say? He bid you come straight in his room.” The Maori servant was debating whether to add an additional comment, and ultimately decided to do so: “It best you hurry. The men much whiskey, little patience.”

  After the incident with Gerald the night of Reginald Beasley’s proposal, Fleur was suspicious about sudden invitations to Gerald’s room. Instinctively, she decided not to make herself look particularly attractive, clasping her riding dress closed again instead of putting on the dark green silk dress Kiri had laid out for her. She would have liked to bring her mother with her, but she did not know where Gwyneira was. The many visitors on top of the farm work were taking up a lot of her mother’s time. At the moment, it was true, there was not all that much to do—it being January, the shearing and lambing were done, and the sheep were mostly wandering free in the highlands—but the summer had been unusually wet, so there were constant repairs to be done, and the hay harvest was becoming a game of chance. Fleur decided not to wait for Gwyneira or to waste time looking for her. Whatever Gerald wanted, she would have to deal with him herself. There was little need to fear an assault; after all, Witi had spoken of “the men.” So John Sideblossom would likewise be present and act as a mediator.

  John Sideblossom was unpleasantly surprised when Fleur entered the study in her riding dress and with her hair a mess—she could have cleaned herself up a bit. However, she still looked indisputably charming. No, it would not be difficult for him to conjure up a little romance.

  “Miss Warden,” he said, “will you permit me to speak?” John bowed formally before the girl. “This is a matter that concerns me more than anyone else, and I am not the sort of man who sends others to do his bidding.”

  He looked into Fleur’s shocked eyes and interpreted the nervous flickering in them as encouragement.

  “It’s true I first laid eyes on you three days ago, Miss Warden, but I was enthralled by you from the very first moment, by your beautiful eyes and your gentle smile. Your kindness these last few days has given me hope that my presence was not objectionable to you either. And for that reason—I am a man of bold decisions, Miss Warden, and I think you will learn to love that about me—for that reason I have decided to ask your grandfather for his permission. He joyfully agreed to an alliance between us. I may therefore, with the permission of your guardian, formally ask for your hand.”

  John smiled and sank down to one knee in front of Fleur. Gerald suppressed a laugh when he noticed that Fleur did not know where to look.

  “I…Mr. Sideblossom, that’s very nice of you, but I love someone else,” she finally said. “My grandfather really should have told you, and—”

  “Miss Warden,” he broke in, full of confidence, “whomever you think you love, you will forget him in my arms soon enough.”

  Fleurette shook her head. “I won’t ever forget him, sir! I promised to marry him.”

  “Fleur, don’t talk such bloody rot!” Gerald roared. “John is the right man for you. Not too young, not too old, socially acceptable, and he’s rich to boot. What more do you want?”

  “I have to be able to love my husband!” Fleurette exclaimed frantically. “And I…”

  “Love comes in time,” John explained. “So, come now, girl. You’ve spent the last three days with me. I can’t be all that disagreeable to you.”

  Impatience flickered in his eyes.

  “You…you are not disagreeable to me, but…but that’s why I won’t…marry you. I think you’re nice, sir, but…but…”

  “Stop playing coy, Fleurette!” John interrupted the girl’s stammering. He could not have cared less about the girl’s objections. “Say yes and then we can begin discussing the formalities. I think we should have the wedding this fall—right after this unfortunate business with James McKenzie has been taken care of. Maybe you can even ride to Lionel Station straightaway…in the company of your mother, of course; we must go about this properly.”

  Fleurette inhaled deeply, imprisoned by anger and panic. Why the devil was no one listening to her? She resolved to say clearly and in no uncertain terms what she had to say. These men had to be capable of understanding the reality of the situation.

  “Mr. Sideblossom, Grandfather,” Fleurette said, raising her voice. “I’ve said it several times now, and I’m getting tired of repeating myself. I won’t marry you, sir! I thank you for your proposal, and I appreciate your attentions, but I am already spoken for. Please excuse me from dinner, Grandfather; I’m indisposed.”

  Fleur forced herself not to run from the room, so she turned around in a slow and measured manner. She left the room with her head held high and without slamming the door behind her. But then she fled through the salon and up the stairs like the devil was on her heels. It was best that she shut herself in her room until John Sideblossom left. She had not liked the flickering in his eyes. The man was no doubt unaccustomed to not getting what he wanted. And something told her that he could be dangerous when things did not go according to his plan.

  5

  The next day Kiward Station filled with men and horses. The sheep barons of the Canterbury Plains had not skimped on their promises: the number of participants in the punitive expedition had grown to the strength of a military company. Gwyneira did not care for the men Gerald’s friends had signed up. There were few Maori shepherds and farm employees among the men. It looked as though the breeders had recruited men in the pubs and the new arrivals’ barracks, and many of them looked to Gwyneira like fortune hunters, if not plain old seedy rabble. For this reason, she was happy to keep Fleurette away from the stables for the next few days. For his part, Gerald did not skimp either and ransacked his alcohol stores. The men drank and celebrated in the shearing sheds; Kiward Station’s shepherd
s, mostly friends of James McKenzie’s, stayed away, deeply uneasy.

  “My God, miss,” Andy McAran said to Gwyneira, summing up their thoughts. “They’re going to hunt James down like a rabid wolf. They’re all talking about shooting him dead! Surely he doesn’t deserve to have this scum sent after his neck. All over a few sheep!”

  “This scum doesn’t know its way around the highlands,” Gwyneira said, not knowing whether she wanted to calm the old shepherd or herself. “They’ll just step on each other’s toes; Mr. McKenzie will laugh himself to death over them. Just wait; they’ll run out of steam. If only they’d be on their way! I don’t like having these people in the yard. I’ve already sent Kiri and Moana and Marama away. I hope the Maori are keeping a good watch over their camp. Are you keeping an eye on our horses and saddlery? I don’t want anything to go missing.”