Song of the Spirits (In the Land of the Long White Cloud saga)

by Lark, Sarah

Elaine still had a headache when she woke up and kept bursting into one fit of tears after another. The composure she had managed to maintain immediately after her kidnapping had given way to the total opposite. She cried at the sight of her ruined dress and then burst into fresh tears, of gratitude, when Charlene appeared with a change of clothes.

  “Now, don’t cry! Mrs. O’Brien will make you a new dress,” Charlene promised. “If she hurries, she’ll even manage it before your concert in Blenheim. That’s the other place you wanted to wear it, right?”

  “If I’m not in prison by then,” Elaine sobbed.

  Charlene tried to persuade her to have something to eat. But she could not be calmed and did not get ahold of herself until it was time for them to leave. Timothy followed the girls, limping through the salon past his mother, who sat in steely silence. His father did not appear at all. Either he was already at work in the mine, or he was drunk—still drunk from the night before or drunk anew.

  William had spent the entire night celebrating the simple fact of being alive. After his daring ride and his subsequent efforts to prove his vitality to Kura in every position he could think of, he shuffled along almost as gingerly as Timothy.

  Nor had the constable gotten a good night’s sleep. Along with his assistants, he had spent half the night managing the recovery and return of the corpse and corroborating the first testimonies.

  After examining John Sideblossom’s mortal remains, Dr. Leroy looked haggard as well. Still, he had not found anything to contradict William’s representation of what had transpired.

  “So we have ascertained,” the justice of the peace said, concluding the inquiry into the fatality, “that John Sideblossom, standing on the box of his wagon at a full gallop, attempted, in a sort of tug of war, to wrest the riding crop from the hand of William Martyn, who was riding alongside him. An unexpected jerk to the side caused him to lose his balance. When he fell, his coat remained stuck to the crop’s handle, and the man was dragged to death. Does anyone have anything else to add?”

  The listeners shook their heads.

  “Not a very pleasant way to die,” the constable remarked, “but nor was he a very pleasant chap. Which brings us to you, Miss Lainie Keefer. Or Elaine Sideblossom, if I understood you correctly last night. What’s all this about a shooting? Why were you living here under a fake name? Why was Greymouth the only ‘safe’ place for you, and why couldn’t Sideblossom have a talk with you instead of kidnapping you like he did?”

  Elaine took a deep breath. Then she told her entire story in a quiet, uninflected voice, her eyes fixed on the ground.

  “Are you going to arrest me?” she asked once she had finished. The prison was attached to the constable’s office. It was empty at the moment but relatively spacious. On weekends, every corner of it was used as a place for men to sober up.

  The constable smiled. “I don’t think so. If you’d wanted to run off, you’d already be gone. Besides, I need to corroborate all this first. It’s all still a little confusing to me. More than anything, I find it strange that I never heard so much as a whisper about any of it. Sure, Lionel Station is remote, but I think that a young woman on a wanted list, and what’s more, due to such a spectacular crime, would have caught my attention. But you shouldn’t plan on leaving the country just yet, Mrs. Sideblossom.”

  “Miss Keefer,” Elaine whispered.

  “So you don’t want to continue to be called Sideblossom, no matter what,” inferred the justice of the peace. He was a kind and sober-minded man whose civil occupation was running the town’s telegraph station. “Wholly understandable if your story proves true. And considering that you’ve just engaged yourself to someone else. I hope that you are not seriously considering simply going ahead and getting married a second time, Miss Keefer! You should get your divorce proceedings under way right away.”

  Timothy nodded. “I believe there’s a lawyer in Westport. Perhaps we could telegraph him.” The constable handed the transcript of their proceedings across the table for Elaine to sign.

  “But we still need to talk about Blenheim,” William said. “I understand, of course, that you have other concerns at the moment, Lainie—”

  “You don’t really believe that after all that, she’d still go to Blenheim,” Timothy yelled. His left side hurt like hell, and he just wanted to put this turmoil behind him. Elaine laid her hand soothingly on his.

  “Of course I’ll go to Blenheim,” she said, tired. “If I may.” She looked at the constable anxiously. Timothy awaited what he hoped would be an answer in the negative.

  The lawman looked from one to the other. “What’s all this about Blenheim?”

  As William enlightened him, he talked up Elaine and Kura’s performance so much that it sounded as important as, say, rescuing the South Island from barbarian invaders.

  Timothy rolled his eyes. “My God, William, it’s just a concert.”

  “For Kura, it’s a great deal more than that,” Elaine contradicted. “And I’m not going to run away, constable.”

  The constable shook his head and chewed on his upper lip, a habit he shared with Elaine. She smiled at him.

  “I’m not much afraid of that, Miss Keefer,” he said finally. “I’m more worried about your personal safety. Thomas Sideblossom will learn about the death of his father no later than tomorrow. Are you sure he won’t plan some act of revenge? Is he capable of that?”

  Elaine flushed and turned pale by turns. “Thomas is capable of anything,” she whispered.

  “He might have been,” William objected. “But after the incident with the pistol…”

  In spite of himself, Timothy was impressed with how carefully William expressed his thoughts. He may have been timid on a horse, but he would have made a fantastic attorney.

  “He rarely leaves his house and is entirely dependent on assistance. He’s as good as blind, constable.”

  “But he would not be beyond planning an attack,” the constable insisted.

  “We just won’t let Lainie out of our sight,” William said.

  The constable gave his visitors a skeptical look. Timothy, exhausted on his crutches, and William, the sight of whom would have made a corpse feel sick—he wouldn’t have hired either one as a bodyguard.

  “You must already know it, Miss Keefer,” he said finally, “but remember that the spirits of the Maori won’t protect you if you leave Greymouth.” He smiled wearily.

  “They weren’t all that helpful yesterday either,” Elaine replied.

  William and Timothy began to argue as soon as they left the constable’s office. As they all followed the justice of the peace to the telegraph office, Elaine had a strangely light sensation, as though she were floating above everything. But a new thought brought her down to earth.

  “Mr. Farrier, my parents are in Queenstown. Could we telegraph them as well perhaps? If everything is being made known anyway?”

  Although she knew that the justice of the peace was answering—she could see his lips moving—for some reason, she could not make out the words. Everything suddenly began to spin, and Elaine lost herself in a cloud. Although not unpleasant, she felt far, far away.

  Elaine heard the voices as though from a distance as she slowly came back to herself.

  “It was all a little much for her.”

  “The head injury.”

  “Nothing can be allowed to happen to her.”

  The last voice belonged to Timothy. And it sounded very desperate and tired.

  Elaine opened her eyes and found herself looking at Dr. Leroy, who was checking her pulse. Berta was fiddling around behind him. Apparently, they had taken her to the little hospital. Timothy and the owners of the other voices she had heard were not in the room.

  “Do I… Is it something serious?” she asked quietly.

  Dr. Leroy smiled. “Something very serious, Miss Keefer. In the coming days, you must be sure to eat properly, not to tie your corset too tight…”

  At that moment, Elaine
noticed that someone had opened her bodice and corset and, predictably, she blushed.

  “Above all, put your affairs in order with respect to divorce and marriage. You’re pregnant, Miss Keefer. And when I deliver the baby, I’d rather call you Mrs. Lambert.”

  “By the time the baby is delivered, we’ll have long since been in Wales,” Timothy said delicately. Berta Leroy had brought him the news and admitted him to see Elaine. She would not allow the young woman to stand up until she had eaten a proper breakfast. Roly was already on the way to the baker—and spreading the news faster than any telegraph could have. “We plan to leave all of this behind. I don’t ever want to have to be afraid of this Sideblossom fellow again.”

  “Maybe I’ll be in prison when the baby comes.” Elaine murmured. “There’s going to be a trial, Tim. You can’t just stick your head in the sand, or in the coal dust in Wales. I’m just happy that they’re even letting me go to Blenheim.”

  “You don’t really mean to play piano in Blenheim? Now, in your condition?” Timothy looked at her, uncomprehending.

  Elaine stroked his cheek.

  “I’m not sick, dear,” she said softly. “And Kura would probably say, ‘The day you can’t play the piano anymore is the day you die.’”

  Kura was waiting for Elaine and Timothy when they finally left the doctor’s office.

  “William told me about the baby,” she said, looking vaguely uncomfortable. “You… you’re happy, aren’t you?”

  Elaine laughed. “Of course I’m happy. It’s the most wonderful thing that’s ever happened to me in my life. But don’t worry, I’m still planning to go to Blenheim. Starting tomorrow, we’ll begin practicing again. Is that all right? I’m still a little worn out today. And I wanted to send a telegram today as well.”

  “William told me that too,” Kura said, looking unusually awkward. “Lainie, I know it’s asking a lot, but couldn’t you wait a bit longer? If you write your parents now, they’ll be here in two days.”

  “Well, two days might be pushing it a bit, but…” Elaine looked at her cousin with astonishment. She did not understand why Kura would ask such a thing, but it looked as though it was important to her.

  “Elaine, if they find you, then they’ll find me too. The next telegram will go to Haldon, and I… Understand me, Lainie, I don’t want them to find me here as a barroom pianist. If this concert in Blenheim is successful, then I’ll be a singer with her own program, on her own tour. I’ll be able to point to newspaper articles. I can say we’ll be going to London.” Kura’s eyes lit up at the mere thought of it, but her voice sounded doubtful and almost imploring. “But if your parents hear me singing at the Wild Rover, when they figure out that I’ve spent a year doing odd jobs without success… Please, Lainie.”

  Elaine hesitated. Then she nodded.

  “We’ll give it a week,” she finally said. “I just hope it will be that successful. I’ve never really seen myself as an artist.”

  Kura smiled. “Maybe your boy will be one. Or girl. Either way, I’ll give it a beautiful grand piano when it’s born.”

  6

  Elaine did not find the journey to Blenheim difficult. On the contrary, she enjoyed the view out of the coach, first of the mountain’s often-breathtaking rock formations and later of the vineyards above Blenheim. Kura, however, was oblivious to all of it. She stared ahead blankly, seemingly entranced by melodies that revealed themselves only to her. In the eternity within her head, she lived through the hell of failure and the joy of roaring applause by turn. William only had eyes for Kura and appeared to be as impatient for the performance as she was; naturally, it marked a new beginning for him as well. If Kura found success, he would give up the sewing-machine business and dedicate himself wholly to the task of making his wife a star.

  Given that both William and Kura viewed this performance as the decisive turning point of their lives, the burden of the concert weighed rather heavily on Elaine at times. What was more, she worried about Timothy, for whom the three-day journey was undeniably a challenge. Elaine insisted that they not cover too much ground each day, and they moved forward almost as sluggishly as she had on her ill-fated journey from Queenstown to Lionel Station. The roads were uneven and poorly maintained in places, and by the second stage of the trip, Kura was complaining that all of her bones hurt.

  Although Timothy did not say anything, he looked as though he felt the same way. He tried to counterfeit a good mood, but Elaine noticed his tense expression and the deep shadows under his eyes. Whenever he actually managed to rest, he moaned in his sleep. When she slipped into his hotel room at night, he was usually awake, reading something in an effort to distract himself from the pain in his hip. None of which boded well for the plans to emigrate that he continued to talk about.

  Elaine dreaded the six-week journey by sea. She imagined the ship as a constantly rocking tub and Timothy having to fight for balance with every step he took on deck. After that, there would be the journey from London to Wales, probably by horse. And, finally, the disappointment if everything did not go as Timothy had hoped.

  Elaine was no longer as optimistic as her fiancé. Naturally, she believed him when he told her that he had received loads of job offers before. But would the mine operators hire him now? A mining engineer who would be reliant on the eyes and ears of others underground? Who was even limited in the buildings he could inspect aboveground? In Greymouth, he had Matt Gawain, whose practical experience Timothy complemented with his technical knowledge and who would keep Timothy honestly and competently informed. He also had Roly, who handled myriad small daily tasks for him without being asked and who acted as though it were the most natural thing in the world. Would he be able to manage without Roly? Though his assistance went largely unnoticed these days, the boy was almost always nearby. But if Roly were no longer there? If nobody were there to automatically saddle and lead Timothy’s horse away, carry his bags, or fetch any little thing for him? Elaine could take care of many of those things for him at home. But in a strange town?

  Of course, Timothy must have considered all that as well, especially with the journey revealing the limits of what he could bear. Perhaps that was the reason he had become increasingly quiet, almost sullen, the closer they got to Blenheim. It could not really have to do with Thomas Sideblossom. The justice of the peace had informed them shortly before their departure that they had not yet succeeded in informing the Sideblossoms of John’s demise. Although a messenger had been sent to Lionel Station, Zoé and Thomas Sideblossom had not been there.

  “They’re supposed to be up north seeing some doctor,” they had been told. “He claims he can remove the bullet from Mr. Sideblossom’s head, or at least that’s what the Maori on the farm understood. They didn’t have any contact address, so we’ll have to wait for them to return, which hopefully won’t be long. We’d like to send the body to them in Otago, but if we don’t receive any confirmation soon, we’ll have to bury him here.”

  Elaine was sure that the Maori on Lionel Station had understood the reason for Thomas Sideblossom’s trip perfectly well. Thanks to John Sideblossom’s special “personnel policy,” there were perfectly schooled servants like Arama and Pai, not to mention Emere. Did she mourn him? And did it seem strange to her that young Zoé Sideblossom would bury him after she, Emere, had shared her bed and borne his children for so many years?

  Zoé Sideblossom still did not have any children herself. William knew that her first child had died at birth and that she had suffered a miscarriage after that. He had told Elaine that much. So there were no legitimate heirs aside from Thomas. It was strange that Zoé was taking such good care of Thomas, but she might have simply been happy to have an excuse to leave the farm, whatever the reason.

  In any case, almost no one believed that anyone was hatching evil schemes aimed at Elaine. As a result, the men did not strictly follow their resolution not to let Elaine out of their sight. When they finally reached Blenheim, Timothy retired immediately to his
hotel room—a sign of the weakness that was so hard for him to acknowledge. Elaine sent Roly after him.

  “Make sure he relaxes a bit. The reception tonight at Mrs. Redcliff’s is bound to be taxing.”

  Roly had not really needed any encouragement. The excuse of bringing Timothy’s bags up to him would have been sufficient for him to check on his patient.

  William took his leave under the flimsiest of pretexts—which Kura would undoubtedly have seen through if she’d had even minimal interest in anything other than the concert that would be taking place the following evening. William knew what he owed Heather Redcliff, née Witherspoon. Indeed, he found her in the middle of preparations for the reception that evening. Her “William, that is really very inappropriate!” sounded so inviting that he put on a hangdog face but made no move to leave the house right away.

  The opportunity to let the maids putter about on their own for a short time did eventually present itself. The cook was relieved not to have anyone peeking into her pots, and the children had already been sent to stay at friends’ houses in anticipation of the reception.

  “I can hardly wait to see Kura again,” Heather declared finally, straightening her hair as she accompanied William outside.

  “And I look forward to finally meeting this Mr. Redcliff I’ve heard so much about,” William said with a smile. “We’ll arrive at eight.”

  Kura and Elaine spent the afternoon looking over the concert hall in the hotel and going through their program once more. At first, Elaine was shaken by the size and elegance of the room. In fact, she was generally impressed with the hotel, which was far more distinguished than the White Hart in Christchurch and could not be compared in any way to her grandmother’s hotel.

  “The acoustics are exceptional,” Kura declared. She had already performed in Blenheim once before with Roderick’s ensemble. “And this time we’ll have the stage ourselves, all to ourselves. No other singers or dancers. The audience will only be listening to us. Isn’t that a wonderful feeling? It’s like champagne.” She spun around on the stage.