by Jude Knight
But she could not be his. So foolish to even think of it, when he was leaving New Zealand, heading back to the very Society that had wronged her fifteen years ago. He had no right to be holding her tenderly, caressing her, thinking about kissing her and more. He was no wild boy to act on this inconvenient attraction, this protective tenderness. But he didn't let her go.
6
The bombardment ended eventually, but careful investigation showed that most of the roof had collapsed, and the way out was blocked by mud and stones. They did their best to dig their way towards the entrance, making slow progress.
Tad hoped for daylight, but either the volcano really had been the end of the world, or their refuge was completely buried, because long after the sun should have risen, they could see no better than when they had begun.
Tad rationed the brandy in his hip flask, a sip now and then to keep their mouths moistened, and they kept digging. How many women did Tad know who would work alongside him, not panicking, taking the occasional rest when he did himself, but willingly turning back to the task? And all the time she kept up her side of a cheerful conversation, asking Tad about his travels and talking about hers; discussing books she enjoyed, many of which he had read; explaining her plans for her garden when they returned to England. She thought Gladstone was right about Home Rule for Ireland and wrong about women's suffrage.
They tried to make a tunnel, which kept collapsing, and were forced to fill up the space behind them in order to excavate what fell. They took it in turns to scoop away from the wall in front, pushing the debris under them for the other to pack onto the growing wall behind. Scoop by scoop, step by step, they dug their way to the surface.
Everything was grey. The bush that had impressed Lottie yesterday, the imported trees that were the English settlers’ pride and joy, had been stripped, their blackened, broken trunks all that remained. Above them, the black cloud remained, blocking all but the glow of the hidden sun, which was already halfway down the sky towards the West. Mid-afternoon, then. Below, ruins of collapsed and burnt buildings were sunk, often up to their eaves, in mud, a few grey figures, small in the distance, digging for survivors.
Lottie was grey, too, covered head to toe with the same mud that caked every part of him he could see.
"It looks like a heavy snowfall but the wrong colour," she observed, some of the words shuddering as the icy wind fingered them both. Her hand, which Tad had not released after helping her from the hole, was as cold as the wind.
"Let's get down to the valley and see if we can find a blanket or a fire," he suggested.
Atame met them at the bottom of the sloping path, behind the wreck that had been the hotel. He looked dirty and tired, but he was alive, which eased Tad's heart.
"How bad is it?" Tad asked, after his friend had exclaimed over their survival.
"Bad. Many dead. More missing. Our tourists survived—all of them, now we have Miss Thompson back among the living. The rest started walking back to Rotorua this morning. The rescuers coming out from there passed them near Tikitapu. At least the worst of it seems to be over."
Someone had set up a fire, and Tad made sure Lottie had a mug of warm tea and a bowl of whatever had been cooking in the pot before serving himself. The greyness was mostly mud, but she was exhausted, too, silently sipping her tea and occasionally scooping a spoonful of the rich stew.
Tad's condition was not much better. He could feel himself drifting to sleep, sitting on a charred log, his face and chest soaking in the heat from the fire while his back chilled in the wind. With an effort, he picked himself up and fetched a blanket from the boxful one of the rescuers had thought to bring.
He had returned to Lottie by the time he realised they should have separate blankets, but he couldn't make himself care. Surely, with all the world in mud and ash, no one would be concerned about propriety? Certainly, Lottie wasn't thinking of it. She let him wrap the blanket and his arm around her and pull her to sit with her back against the log. She was asleep almost before her head descended on his shoulder, and he would not be far behind.
Tad and Lottie returned to Rotorua with a group of Te Wairoa refugees, who had been invited to stay with relatives at the Ohinemutu village. The great pall thrown up by the volcano still darkened the sky, and the walk took the whole day, from just after breakfast. Atame wasn't with them. He had joined a boat trip across Lake Tarawera to see what had become of the Māori villages around its shores. Lottie had seen enough to know he would find nothing, but assured Tad that, if he wanted to go with his friend, she would be fine.
"I'm not leaving you until I see you safe," he replied. "Besides..."
His voice trailed off, and he put out a hand to help her over a fallen tree trunk in their path. On the other side, he didn't release her hand, instead lifting it to see the scratches and torn nails disclosed by this morning's wash in the muddy water of a lake they had passed.
"They will heal," she reminded him.
He raised it further, kissing the back of it before letting it drop, but still he continued to keep it tucked inside his own. "We are survivors, you and I."
He was not, she thought, talking about the volcano. Yes. She had survived her scandal, her grief, her dull and empty life with Myrtle. But he had more than survived. He had thrived in this far land, transcending his undeserved disgrace.
They stopped for a bite of lunch on the shores of Tikitapu, where the conversation became more general, though mostly in the lyrical fluid sounds of the Māori language. Tad kept translating bits for her, and occasionally one of the others would address her in English.
She was content, she realised. Her various scrapes and bruises hurt, she must stink to high heaven and would seriously consider selling her soul to any devil who offered her a bath, and she was walking through a devastation worse than any she had imagined. But no one had scolded her in two days, she had friendly company even if she did not understand what they said, and the man with her held her hand and looked at her as if he liked her.
They had put another hour's walk behind them before her realisation coalesced into a decision. "I am not going back."
"There's nothing to go back for," Tad agreed.
"Exactly." She was pleased he could see that, too. "No one needs to know I am even alive. You will keep my secret, will you not? And I am sure there must be some work I can do here in New Zealand."
"Wait." Tad stopped walking, and she, her hand still held captive in his, had perforce to stop too. "We're not talking about Te Wairoa, are we? You are not going back to Mrs Bletherow?"
Lottie shook her head, then nodded, then clarified her mixed messages by saying, "I am not going to let Myrtle know I survived. She would only try to stop me from leaving her."
"Good for you." Tad started walking again.
"I wish I could do the same," he ventured, after some minutes silence. "I told you about my brother Six? He's here, in Rotorua. He came to fetch me home, back to England."
Lottie let go of a hope she hadn't known she had. He was going back to England, and she was staying here in New Zealand. And that was that.
"Father has been looking for me, it seems He is getting old, and I am his heir, all the others having died, leaving no children or only daughters. Six has a wife and three sons, but..."
"But you are the heir." Lottie understood.
"They didn't know where I was, Lottie, or even if I was alive. But Six was the executor of Auntie Em's will, and when he saw she had left a letter for a Thaddeus Fartleberry, he knew how to find me."
"So. You will go back and be a viscount."
"It is ridiculous, Lottie. What do I know about that life? What do I want to know? But Six... I can't abandon him again. He wasn't having an affair with Evangeline, by the way. And he believed I was, which is why he didn't follow me to Auntie Em's." Tad shook his head. "Perhaps none of us were. Perhaps she and Primus finally managed it. She had three children, all daughters."
"Or perhaps it was the brother who too
k you to your aunt."
"Quartus. Yes. That's what Six says. Certainly, as Father's steward, he lived with them, and he never married. Evangeline had no further pregnancies after Quartus died, though Primus only passed last year. Six took over from Quartus as steward, but he and his family live in a cottage in the village."
"I am sorry for all your losses, Tad."
"And I for yours." He took a deep breath and forced a smile. "Shall we talk about the best places in New Zealand for an intelligent, attractive, capable woman to make a new life for herself?"
7
Rotorua was untouched, the wind having driven the cloud of volcanic debris in the other direction. Tad left Lottie in the care of the village women. Even after a bath, clean clothes, a good meal cooked hangi-style, and a night's sleep on the women's side of the meeting house, she had dark bruises under her eyes, but she was looking forward to a long soak in one of the village's hot pools and told him he was not to worry about her.
"Find out, if you can, what has become of Myrtle, and I will stay here where she won't see me."
In the pakeha part of the town, Tad pulled his hat to shadow his face and stayed away from the shops he usually patronised. He needed to visit the guest house to find out what happened to the tour party, but he didn't want to answer questions about Lottie. The best way to avoid lying was not to be asked.
From the other side of the road, he watched as the people he sought came out of the front door. His cart, still loaded with the baggage that had been left in Rotorua, was pulled up behind an unfamiliar carriage into which Mr Farthingale was handing Mrs Bletherow. At least, from the shape and the gaunt Miss Parrish haunting her other elbow, he assumed it was Mrs Bletherow. She was in full mourning, black from head to toe, a black veil descending from her bonnet to obscure her face.
Farthingale handed up the two Pritchard girls next. They were followed by Mr and Mrs Pritchard, and then Farthingale himself squeezed aboard. Seven to the coach. It would be tight. Tad moved so he could see the driver. Ah, yes. Tau Williams. He drove for Midlands, who ran coaches to Hamilton, to the railhead. They'd be back in Auckland tonight.
Lottie could stay in New Zealand and build a new life unhindered by her old one, and his heart lifted at the thought before he remembered that he couldn’t be with her, his own past binding him to a future in England. They had known one another for only a few days. How could the thought of leaving her hurt so much?
He watched the coach pull away, followed by the slower cart.
"Quin?"
Tad turned to his brother, surprised to see tears in the eyes so like his own. "Quin, I thought you were dead. They told me you were dead."
One of Atame’s cousins brought Lottie a message from Tad. He’d seen Myrtle leave, dressed in deep mourning. Perhaps tomorrow, or the next day, she would feel relieved, and excited about the possibilities of her new life. But not today.
She was tired, of course. The sleepless night, full of terror, followed by the long walk and then a soak in water so hot that it drained the last of her energy. She explained to her hostesses, who showed her where she was to sleep and left her alone.
But sleep wouldn’t come, and she knew she had lied to herself. It was not exhaustion that had her near to tears, torn between despair and a fury at the fate that let her fall in love with Tad Berry, only to break her heart when he left.
Just as well, perhaps, for if he stayed, she would have her heart broken by his indifference. He had been kind, no more, but to her it had been magical. She choked on a tearful laugh. The most romantic time in all her boring spinster existence had been spent buried underground, hiding from a volcano.
The others came to their sleeping mats, and she lay silent, pretending to sleep, until at long last it was true.
Tad waited for Lottie to finish breaking her fast before approaching her. She looked wary, but he hadn’t missed the light in her eyes, the instantly suppressed smile. She was pleased to see him, but would she pleased with what he had to say?
He should wait, but he found he couldn’t bear the suspense.
“Will you walk with me along the lake front, Lottie?”
“I thought you were gone.”
“Without saying goodbye?” She wanted him gone? The hope her smile had engendered sunk, but he had not made a small fortune in far-flung places by giving up. He held out his hand and hope surged again when she took it.
Hand in hand, they walked along the shore, skirting boggy patches and sending seagulls and ducks scurrying into the water.
Where to begin? “I saw my brother last night.”
“He will be pleased to know you are safe.” Cool and controlled; Lottie with her walls up.
“He was. He was not so pleased when I told him I had died in the eruption.”
Lottie stopped, dragging on his hand, and he turned to face her.
“But… But you are your father’s heir.”
Tad was shaking his head. He had been through this last night. Six had been Father's steward for years and loved the estate. He had a wife born to the aristocracy who would be a good countess. Not that Lottie wouldn't succeed at anything she set her mind to, but he'd have trouble enough, he knew, convincing her he wanted a future with her, without throwing the blankety title into the mix.
“Not now, Lottie. Quintus is dead. Long live Tad Berry. And happily, I hope.”
Lottie was shaking her head, the unaccountable female. “I don’t understand.”
Six had understood immediately. "Is this about the female that disappeared with you?” he’d asked. “The companion of that vulgar widow? Has she talked you into this nonsense? Have you compromised her? No. They say she is a little mouse of a thing. Not your type."
Tad had told him not to be an ass. “We were too busy digging ourselves out from under a couple of yards of mud to get up to any compromising behaviour. And she’s no mouse. Far from it.”
Tad had needed to be persuasive to talk Six into accepting the estate that was his passion and his heart's desire, even if a ruddy earldom went with it. But Tad had built what counted as a fortune in New Zealand by being persuasive, starting from the wages he'd earned on ship and then in the mines.
He’d need to pull out all his skill to talk Atame into accepting at least half of that fortune, left to him in Tad's will. Hell. He could have the lot if he wished.
That was for later. For now, Tad had a negotiation to win that mattered more than either his brother or his friend.
He tucked Lottie’s hand into his arm and began to stroll again.
“I cannot go off to the other side of the world, Lottie. I’d be leaving my heart behind.”
“You love New Zealand so much?”
“I love you.”
He let Lottie stop him again, but would not release the hand she tried to pull from his grasp. Tears stood in her eyes and she was shaking her head. He could barely stand at the blow, but she was asking a question and he made himself listen through the howling of his thoughts.
“How can you? You barely know me.”
“I know you. I have seen you under fire, and if ever a person is true to themselves, it is when they face death. I have seen your dignity and your courage, Lottie. I have fallen in love with your intelligence, your kindness, and your strength. If it is too soon, will you at least give me hope? Will you let me woo you?”
The tears were spilling over now, running ignored down her cheeks, but her eyes glowed as she smiled. “Perhaps that would be best. For a short time. Just to be sure that the love we have found is true, and not a chimera of the night.”
“You love me?” Now it was hope that roared, bubbling up to fill him.
“I think I do. I believe I do.”
Tad pulled Lottie into his arms. “Then a wooing it shall be, dear heart. For a short time.” She lifted her lips for a kiss, and he began his wooing.
8
Christchurch
22 December 1887
Tad removed his straw summer hat and his jack
et and hung them on the coat rack in the small hall.
"Is Mrs Smith in?" he asked the maid, who was dusting the hall table and the banisters to the stairs.
"She is with Miss Emmeline in the garden, Mr Smith," the maid replied, so Tad walked down the hall and through the back door into the little bit of paradise he and Lottie were creating here in Christchurch.
"How is the shop?" Lottie was showing Em the young roses, planted last year and flowering brilliantly, though they had some way to go to reach over the top of the arbour.
Their six-month-old daughter laughed and held out her arms. "Pa, Pa, Pa," she shouted.
Tad took the baby and kissed her darling, snub nose. "How is my Em? Have you been good for Bessie and Mama?” He looked to Lottie. “It's busy, my love. Everyone seems to want books for Christmas presents. But the clerks can cover it until I've had my lunch.” Tad glanced back down at his daughter. “Lunch for Papa, Em?"
Lottie slid her arms around him for a hug, kissing his chin and then the baby's capped head for good measure. "Come inside. Something arrived while you were out. Come on." She took his hand and almost dragged him behind her to whatever surprise awaited.
In the small parlour, the large Christmas pine Tad had cut on the Port Hills filled all of one corner, and a huge box, wrapped in elaborately decorated paper trimmed with lace and ribbon, took up all the rest of the space not devoted to furniture.
"Presents, Lottie? Who from?"
"I got the delivery men to uncrate it, but it is addressed to you. Or, rather, to Thaddeus Fartleberry at this address." She was laughing as she produced a thick envelope encrusted with stamps, their Christchurch street address written in his brother's bold hand.
Turning it over to see the return address, he paused. The Earl of Barnsley, the Barnsley crest on the seal. For a moment, he thought Father had written, but no. This was from Six, whose monthly letters had become the link to England that Auntie Em's had once been.