by Lark, Sarah
Elaine had only just begun to think of herself as pretty. Her love for William had done her good. She radiated from inside out; her skin was clean and rosy, her hair gleamed, and her eyes were more alert and expressive than before. Yet as soon as she found herself beside her cousin, she felt as if she had shriveled into an ugly duckling—as would any girl on whom nature had not lavished so many advantages as on Paul Warden’s daughter. Elaine was looking at a girl who towered over her by half a head, which was not merely because she held herself naturally erect and moved with feline grace.
Kura’s skin was the color of coffee generously mixed with thick, white cream. Her skin had a light-golden sheen that was warm and inviting. Kura’s straight, deep-black, waist-length hair shimmered in such a way that it looked like a curtain of onyx had fallen down over her shoulders. Her eyelashes and her gently curved black eyebrows made her eyes—big and azure-blue like her grandmother Gwyneira’s—all the more remarkable. Kura’s eyes, however, did not twinkle in the teasing or willful way that Gwyneira’s did, but instead looked calm and wistful, almost bored, which endowed her rare beauty with an aura of mystery. Her heavy eyelids further underscored the impression that she was dreaming and only waiting to be awoken.
Kura’s full lips were dark red and shimmered moistly. Her teeth were small, perfectly straight, and white as snow, making her mouth irresistible. Her face was narrow, her neck long and beautifully curved. She wore a simple burgundy traveling dress, but her body would have stood out even beneath the plainest frock. Her breasts were taut and full and her hips wide. They swayed lasciviously with every step; however, her movements didn’t seem practiced, as with Daphne’s girls. It looked as though Kura had been born with an innate sensuality.
A black panther. William had once seen one in the London Zoo. This girl’s lithe movements and hot-blooded beauty awakened memories of it in him right away. William could not help smiling at Kura, and it took his breath away when she returned the smile. Only briefly, naturally, for what did this goddess care about a young man standing by the side of the road?
“You… er… are Kura?” Fleurette got ahold of herself first and gave the girl a slightly forced smile. “I have to admit that I almost didn’t recognize you. Which just goes to show that we haven’t been to Kiward Station in an awfully long time. Do you remember Elaine? And Georgie?”
School had just gotten out, and George had been walking up to the store when Kura made her grand entrance, which he had followed with as the same dumbly gaping face as the rest of the male bystanders. Now, however, he made use of his luck to push his way up to his mother and his gorgeous cousin. If he only knew what to say to her.
“Kia ora,” he finally wrung out of himself, thinking he sounded markedly cosmopolitan. After all, Kura was Maori; he supposed she’d like to be greeted in her language.
Kura smiled. “Hello, George.”
A voice like a song. George remembered reading this description somewhere and finding it unbelievably absurd. But that was before he had heard Kura-maro-tini say hello.
Elaine made an effort to shake off her exasperation. Granted, Kura was pretty, but more importantly she was Elaine’s cousin. And therefore, a completely normal person, and, moreover, younger than she was. There was absolutely no reason to gawk at her. Elaine smiled and tried to greet Kura nonchalantly—but her “Hello, Kura” sounded a little forced.
Kura was about to respond, but a whimpering and howling from the carriage suddenly drew everyone’s attention. In the dog basket, which Kura had of course not brought out with her, a puppy was fighting heroically for his freedom.
“Now what’s that?” Elaine asked, sounding natural again. She neared the carriage in a state of excitement, having nearly forgotten Kura.
Gwyneira followed her and opened the basket. “I thought I’d do something to carry on the tradition. With your permission—Kiward Callista. A great-great-granddaughter of my first border collie, the one who came with me from Wales.”
“For… me?” Elaine stammered, gazing into the face of a tiny three-colored dog with large, alert eyes that seemed quite prepared to adore her liberator.
“As if we didn’t already have enough dogs!” Fleurette cried. But she too found the new pup more interesting than the icy Kura.
For Ruben, George, and, above all, William, that was not the case. George was still struggling to come up with a clever remark, when his father pulled himself together to formally welcome Kura to Queenstown.
“We’re very happy to have a chance to get to know you better,” Ruben said. “Gwyneira says you have an interest in music and art. You might like it better here in town than out in the plains.”
“Even if our town’s cultural offerings do still leave something to be desired.” William had finally regained his composure and, with it, his talent for whaikorero. “Though I’m sure they’ll rise to the occasion when you, miss, are sitting in the audience. Unless you take their breath away. We have to account for that, naturally.” He smiled.
Kura did not react as promptly as most girls. Instead of giving him a spontaneous smile, her mien remained serious. Yet he could detect a flicker of interest in her eyes.
William tried another approach. “You make music yourself, miss, isn’t that so? Elaine told me that you are a talented pianist. Tell me, do you prefer classical or folk music?”
That was clearly the correct strategy. Kura’s eyes brightened.
“Opera is my first love. I’d like to become a singer. But I see no reason not to combine classical and folk elements. I know that is considered daring, but it can be done. I have tried to underlay some old Maori songs with a conventional piano accompaniment, and the result has been very lovely.”
Elaine did not observe the exchange between Kura and William. She only had eyes for the little dog. Fleurette’s and Gwyneira’s eyes met, however.
“Who is the boy?” Gwyneira inquired. “Good God, I’ve been sitting next to her for a week trying to start a conversation, but she didn’t say three sentences the whole trip. Suddenly now…”
Fleurette frowned. “Well, our William Martyn just knows the right questions to ask. He has been working for Ruben for a few weeks. A clever one with clear designs for the future. He’s been courting Elaine quite attentively.”
“Elaine? But she’s still only a child…” Gwyneira broke off. Elaine was a year older than Kura. And everyone was thinking about a speedy marriage for her.
“We think she’s too young too. Otherwise, it would be suitable. A landed Irish gentleman.”
Gwyneira nodded with a mildly bewildered expression. “What is he doing here then instead of tending to his soil in Ireland? Or did his tenants kick him off his land?” Even in Haldon, the occasional English newspaper had begun to appear.
“A long story,” Fleurette said. “But allow me to intervene here first. If Kura starts off by making Lainie jealous first thing, I see little chance of a happy family gathering.”
William had introduced himself by this time and made a few clever comments on the body of old Irish songs that seemed on the verge of conquering the world.
“There’s a version of ‘The Maids of Mourne Shore’ to lyrics by William Butler Yeats. We Irish don’t actually care for it when old Gaelic songs are given new English lyrics, but in this case…”
“I know that song. Isn’t it called ‘Down by the Salley Gardens’? My tutor taught it to me.”
Kura was obviously having a grand time, which Ruben too had begun to notice.
“Mr. Martyn, would you see to the store?” he asked in a friendly but firm tone. “My family and I will be riding home presently, but Mrs. O’Keefe would surely be happy to send one of the twins over to help. I need you to carry in the new shipment of supplies… There will no doubt be other opportunities for you to discuss music with my niece.”
William took the hint, said his good-byes, and felt more than flattered when Kura appeared to be disappointed. He had completely forgotten Elaine, but then, as he
was about to turn away, she drew attention to herself.
“Look what I have!” Radiant, she held a panting ball of fuzz in front of William’s nose. “This is Callie. Say hello, Callie!” She took one of the dog’s paws and waved it. The puppy gave a quiet but high-pitched bark, and Elaine laughed. A few hours earlier, William would have found her laugh irresistible, but now, next to Kura, Elaine suddenly seemed childish.
“A sweet little dog, Miss O’Keefe,” he said, though it came out a little forced. “But I have to go now. Your father wants to be on his way, and there’s a great deal to do.” He indicated the shipment that had to be unloaded and registered.
Elaine nodded. “Yes, and I have to see to Kura. She’s certainly attractive, but otherwise strikes me as rather dull,” Elaine added under her breath.
Georgie came to the same conclusion after trying to lure Kura into conversation the entire way to Nugget Manor. The girl had grown up on a sheep farm, so he brought up sheep husbandry first.
“How many sheep do you have on Kiward Station these days?”
Kura did not so much as glance at him.
“Around ten thousand, Georgie,” Gwyneira answered instead. “But the number fluctuates. We’re focusing more and more on cattle, since these new refrigerated ships now make meat exports possible.”
Kura registered no response. But she was Maori. Surely she would want to talk about her people.
“Say, did I pronounce kia ora correctly?” he asked. “You speak fluent Maori, right, Kura?”
“Yes,” she replied.
George wracked his brain. Kura was beautiful, and beautiful people undoubtedly liked talking about themselves.
“Kura-maro-tini is quite an unusual name,” the boy said. “Does it have any special meaning?”
“No.”
George gave up. It was the first time he had ever been interested in a girl, but this appeared to be a hopeless case. If he was ever to marry, he thought, then let it be to a woman who at least spoke to him, regardless of what she looked like.
Fleurette served tea shortly thereafter and was not much more successful in drawing the girl out of her shell. Kura had entered the house, studied the relatively simple furnishings with an indefinable but decidedly ungracious gaze—the O’Keefes had entrusted themselves to local carpenters rather than having furniture sent from England—and not said a word since. Now and again, she eyed the piano in one of the salon’s corners covetously, but she had been too well raised to simply walk over to it. Instead, she nibbled morosely on tea cake.
“Do you like it?” Fleurette inquired. “Elaine baked it herself, granted, not for us but for her friend.” She winked at her daughter, whose attention was still entirely focused on her puppy.
Gwyneira sighed. Her gift had undeniably been a success, but with regard to the aim of bringing the two cousins closer together, the puppy was proving to be more of an obstacle than a help.
“Yes, thank you,” Kura said.
“Would you like some more tea?” Fleurette asked. “You must be thirsty after your journey. If I know your grandmother, there was only black coffee and water to drink on the way. At least that’s how it always was during herding.” She smiled.
“Yes, please,” Kura said.
“So, what is your first impression of Queenstown?” Fleurette had desperately attempted to formulate a question that could not be answered with yes or no, thank you or yes, please.
Kura shrugged.
Helen, who arrived together with Ruben, had a little more luck a short while later. He had brought her as soon as she could get away from the hotel.
She was conversing fluidly with Kura about her musical studies, the pieces she was currently practicing on the piano, and her preference for various composers. The girl’s outward appearance did not make the least impression on Helen, and she behaved entirely normally toward her. Kura seemed to find that alien at first, but then warmed to it. Unfortunately, no one else could contribute to the conversation. Kura had once again succeeded in bringing the discussion to its knees. Aside from Elaine, who was busy with her puppy, everyone else in the room was bored to death.
“Maybe you’d like to sing something for us,” Helen finally prompted. She felt that tension was building, especially in Gwyneira and Fleurette. Georgie had already fled to his room, and Ruben seemed to be musing over some legal documents. “Elaine could accompany you.”
Elaine played the piano reasonably well. She was considerably more gifted musically than Gwyneira, whose musical education in Wales had been a form of torture. Helen had been teaching Elaine for years and was proud of her progress. Surely that was the reason she had suggested it. Kura was not to think that all other New Zealanders were philistines.
Elaine stood up willingly. Kura, for her part, looked skeptical and appeared downright horrified when Elaine played the first few bars and Callie joined in, howling at the highest notes. The rest of the group found the whelp’s song hilarious. Elaine laughed until she cried but then shut the dog away as instructed. Of course, then Callie howled heartbreakingly from the next room, disturbing her young mistress’s concentration. That was most likely the reason Elaine missed notes several times. Kura rolled her eyes.
“If you don’t mind, I’d rather accompany myself,” she said. Elaine had the same shriveling feeling she’d had when Kura had stepped out of the chaise. But then she threw her head back defiantly. Let her cousin have the piano! She could get back to caring for Callie.
The music that wafted in through the closed door made Elaine feel even smaller. The piano never sounded so beautiful when she played it herself—and not even when her grandmother Helen played. Perhaps it was in the way Kura threw herself into the music, putting her soul into it; Elaine couldn’t put her finger on it. Whatever it was, she only sensed that she would never be able to play like that, even if she practiced her whole life.
“Come. We’re going outside,” she whispered to her dog. “Before she starts singing. I’ve had enough perfection and spotless beauty for today.”
She tried to think of William and his kisses back at the lake’s cove. As always that raised her spirits. He loved her, he loved her… Elaine’s racing heart sang with Kura’s voice.
“What do you think of her?”
Gwyneira’s patience had been tested for quite a long time before she finally had Helen to herself. Not only tea but the little family dinner was over, and they had sent the children off to bed. Elaine and Georgie had gone willingly, and Kura, too, seemed happy to retire. She explained that she still had a letter to write—Gwyneira could all too well imagine what she would report to Miss Witherspoon about her family.
Helen took a sip of wine. She loved the Bordeaux that Ruben regularly had sent from France. She’d had to endure too many years without those kinds of luxuries.
“What would you like to hear? About how beautiful Kura is? You already know that. How musical? You know that too. The problem is that she also knows it—all too well.”
Gwyneira smiled. “You’ve come straight to the point. She’s horribly conceited. But what about her voice, for example? Is that really enough for the opera?”
Helen shrugged. “I have not attended an opera performance for forty-five years. So what can I possibly say? What does her teacher think? She should know about that sort of thing.”
Gwyneira rolled her eyes. “Miss Witherspoon was not engaged as a music teacher. In truth, she’s supposed to be giving all the children on Kiward Station a proper education. But it looks like I’ve made an awful mistake. She comes from a very good house, you see. First-class education, boarding school in Switzerland. On paper she looked grand. But then her father overreached on some deal, lost all his money, and threw himself out a window. Suddenly little Heather had to make her own way in the world. Unfortunately, it’s been difficult for her to move past that. And she’d hardly unpacked before Kura started filling Miss Witherspoon’s head with all the things that had always filled her own.”
Helen l
aughed. “But she must have studied music. Kura plays exceptionally, and her voice. I mean, you can recognize that she’s had some training.”
“Miss Witherspoon had voice and piano instruction in Switzerland,” Gwyneira informed her. “For how long, I didn’t ask. I only know that she complains it was far too little, and that she can hardly teach Kura anything else. But Kura soaks up everything that has to do with music like a sponge. Even Marama says she can’t teach the girl anything more, and as you know, she’s considered a tohunga.”
“Well, then her voice should be enough for the opera. A conservatory could only do Kura good. If she were there, she would finally just be one among many and would no longer be worshipped by everyone she came into contact with.”
Gwyneira dissented. “I don’t worship her!”
Helen smiled. “No, you’re afraid of her, which is worse! You live in fear that this child might get into some mischief that would lead to the loss of Kiward Station.”
Gwyneira sighed. “But I can’t send her to London.”
“Better that than into the arms of some Maori boy serving as Tonga’s marionette. Look at it this way, Gwyn: Even if Kura goes to London and marries in London, she remains the heiress. And even if Kiward Station is of no interest to her, she won’t sell it—at least not as long as she doesn’t need money. And you are not lacking for money, are you?”
Gwyneira shook her head. “We could furnish her with a generous stipend.”
Helen nodded. “Then do it! If she marries overseas, the cards will be reshuffled, of course, but that wouldn’t necessarily be a bad thing. As long as she doesn’t fall into the hands of a philanderer or a gambler or a criminal, her husband won’t lay a hand on a farm in New Zealand that pays out money every month. The same goes for her children. If one of them feels a calling to become a farmer, then that child can come here. Though they might prefer to take the money and make a nice life with it.”