by Lark, Sarah
“That’s fine, Roly,” Elaine said quietly. “Thank you.” She reached for her shawl. “Are you coming, Tim?”
Elaine had been dreading this moment, but now that it had come, she was astoundingly composed. However it ended—at least she would know where she stood.
Timothy put his arm around her. “What kind of question is that? We’re going to see this through together, Lainie. We’ve made it through worse.”
For the first time, Elaine felt impatient at Timothy’s disability. It seemed to take forever for him to put on his jacket and take the few steps out onto the street. The new arrivals’ horses were tied up in front of the constable’s office. A bony gray horse and a stocky black one that struck Elaine as familiar for some reason.
She would have liked to run away, and Timothy, for his part, would have happily delayed the moment of truth. Though he had been impatient and ready to face anything just a few minutes before, he now felt that he couldn’t take another blow. A trial, perhaps jail…
Elaine entered the building with her head lowered. Suddenly, she heard Callie howling. The little dog pushed past Timothy and raced into the room. Elaine looked up, confused—and saw Callie leaping up on someone, barking excitedly and wagging her tail. She was greeting none other than Ruben O’Keefe.
“Daddy.” Elaine whispered the word once before shouting it and flying into her father’s arms.
“Your mother and I played poker to see who would accompany the constable, and I won!” Ruben explained with a smile. “I’ll admit to having cheated though. Oh, Lainie, we were so overjoyed to hear from you. We’d begun to think you were dead!”
“Were you looking for me?” Elaine asked quietly. “I didn’t know. I thought you’d be angry with me.”
Ruben drew her close once more. “You silly girl, of course we looked for you. Very carefully. We knew that John Sideblossom was after you too, after all. But not even Uncle George could find anything out.”
“Which is no surprise,” the constable added. “Can we perhaps come to the business at hand? Although this is a particularly interesting matter, I do have other more mundane tasks to attend to.”
No one believed this latter point, and even his colleague only nodded with some effort. He was a younger, enthusiastic-looking man whose uniform still looked freshly ironed despite the ride.
“Jefferson Allbridge,” he introduced himself. “And you are Elaine Sideblossom?”
Elaine swallowed. She had not heard that name in so long. Nervously, she felt for Timothy’s hand, but since no one had asked him to come in, he had remained standing by the door.
The constable finally took notice of him.
“Come in, Mr. Lambert, sit down. Jeff—this is Mr. Timothy Lambert, Miss Keefer’s fiancé.”
Ruben O’Keefe gave his daughter a confused look, then turned his gaze on Timothy. He had calm green eyes, curly brown hair, and a mustache that made him look older than he was. Timothy laid his crutches aside and took a seat in one of the chairs in the office with some effort. Under Ruben O’Keefe’s eyes, he felt like he was like running the gauntlet. Timothy was afraid of rejection, but Elaine’s father pushed the chair in for him.
“Sit down, Elaine,” Ruben said kindly. Elaine was the only one still standing at that point, as though she wanted to face her judgment on her feet.
“All right then, Mrs. Sideblossom,” the constable began. Though his face looked serious, Timothy saw the waggishness in his eyes. “First things first, I must request that you withdraw this nonsensical self-indictment that you recently presented me with. I do not hold it against you. You were in a mentally compromised condition after your abduction, and the doctor has assured me that you also… But perhaps you should tell your father about that yourself. In any event, we do not plan to pursue any further action against you because of your false testimony.”
Elaine turned flush and pale by turns. “False testimony? But why?”
“Naturally, you never shot your husband, Thomas Sideblossom,” Jefferson Allbridge explained. “Of course there were rumors to that effect, but my… er… predecessor looked into the matter, and Mr. John Sideblossom, as well as Mr. Thomas Sideblossom, once he was fit to be questioned, both testified that it was an accident. Mr. Sideblossom had been cleaning his gun. Well, these things happen.”
“I…”
“No one ever pressed charges, Elaine,” Ruben O’Keefe said. “We didn’t know that either, or we would have looked even harder for you. From the very start, it seems that Sideblossom intended to settle the matter privately, so to speak.”
“But everyone knew—William, Kura…”
“Where did you see William Martyn?” Ruben asked, taken aback. “And Kura? But, no matter, we can talk about that later. In any case, naturally everyone knew, constables included. Please cover your ears, Mr. Allbridge! Things like that can’t be kept secret in a house full of servants, especially not when twenty sheepshearers can serve as witnesses. One of them found Thomas—and a midwife was also present. He owes his life to that woman. She acted very bravely. But of course everyone could put two and two together and figure out what happened. The constable could have held the Sideblossoms too, for what they did to you, but then again, there were relations and dependents.”
“The case was dropped last summer,” added Jefferson. He sounded almost apologetic.
“Looking back, it was a fortunate stroke of fate,” remarked Ruben.
“I’ve looked into the matter seriously,” Jefferson continued weightily. “Particularly this story about the abduction. Although John Sideblossom never pressed formal charges over the shooting, he had launched a very aggressive search for you, Mrs.… Miss…”
“Just Lainie O’Keefe,” whispered Elaine.
“From what I’ve been able to find in the records, he had informants in practically every large town on the South Island. Some fellow out of Westport gave him the decisive clue. But his man here in Greymouth covered for you, Miss O’Keefe.”
“He covered… But why?” Everything was spinning around Elaine again. Timothy took her hand.
“His contact in Greymouth was a miner down in the Blackburn Mine,” said the constable. “The man is Maori.”
“And a son of Emere, Sideblossom’s housekeeper,” Jefferson added. “That’s why Sideblossom thought he was loyal. In addition, he was in a relationship with a girl who served as your lady’s maid, Miss O’Keefe.”
Pai? Or Rahera? But Pai had been in love with Pita. Elaine was having difficulty keeping everything straight.
“And the girl belonged to a tribe that was having difficulties with Mr. Sideblossom, to put it mildly.”
“Rahera!” Elaine cried. “John had caught their tribe stealing and kept Rahera like a slave as punishment. She was terribly afraid of the police. Yet I always told her it would be better to testify.”
“You could have listened to that advice yourself,” the constable grumbled.
Jefferson gave him a cross look, as he was anxious to conclude his speech. “In any case, the young man was torn between his loyalty to his relations and his love for his sweetheart. Then, during your escape, you stumbled upon his own tribe, Miss O’Keefe, which received you very kindly, and the matter was decided.”
“That’s why the chief’s wife said I would be safe in Greymouth,” Elaine mumbled.
The constable nodded. “Which cleared up the most burning question for me. I’ve spent hours chewing over why my town of all places is such an ideal destination for more or less fallen women.”
“Your engagement announcement was what did you in,” Jefferson continued ungraciously. He clearly took umbrage at interruptions.
Elaine reddened. Her father once again looked from her to Timothy by turn.
“My parents insisted on the engagement party,” Timothy said, feeling he needed to justify himself. I wanted to scrap the entire thing after I found out Sideblossom was still alive.”
“And I planned to turn myself in right afterward,” El
aine said.
“If you’d done it earlier, John Sideblossom might still be alive,” the constable said sternly.
“And he would have continued to pursue you,” Ruben added. “He never would have let it go. If you had contacted us, Lainie, we would have sent you overseas. No one could have protected you from him here.”
Timothy nodded. “We had the same idea,” he said quietly.
“The death of John Sideblossom does not appear to have caused anyone much grief,” Jefferson remarked. “In his household either. The employees appeared to be rather relieved. This Emere woman above all, whom I would have thought quite loyal. But she was talking about spirits that had taken their revenge. In the meantime, the son has become completely deranged. According to the information they provided, he’s in an asylum in Blenheim. Apparently unresponsive at the moment. Well, that’s the gist of it. Are there any questions?”
“I… I’m free to go?” Elaine asked.
Jefferson shrugged. “That depends on what you mean. There were never any legal charges against you. However, you remain married.”
Elaine scooted her chair closer to Timothy. “Would you hold me anyway?” Elaine whispered to him.
Timothy pulled her closer.
Ruben formally took his leave of both constables, thanking Jefferson Allbridge in particular.
“On behalf of my currently otherwise-engaged daughter as well,” he said. “We’ll clarify this matter of the marriage and the engagement. So, where can I rent a room for a few nights?”
“And this time it’s definitely the right one?” Ruben asked his daughter sternly. He had spoken at length with Timothy and was now taking Elaine to task.
Timothy had ridden home. His family’s cook always produced enough food for a whole regiment, but he wanted to inform his parents that he had invited the father of his future wife to dinner. Well, Timothy thought, at least the poised, distinguished, and prosperous-looking Mr. O’Keefe would please Nellie. With Marvin, it would depend on what time he had started drinking.
“This time it’s the right one,” Elaine confirmed radiantly. “It took me a long time to figure it out. But I’m absolutely certain!”
Ruben raised his eyebrows. “We’ll see what your mother has to say. Based on past experience, I would not particularly trust your instincts or mine.”
Elaine laughed. “William would probably direct you to Callie on that point,” she said, giggling lightheartedly and scratching her dog.
Ruben made a face. He was still bewildered by this business with William and Kura, who all of sudden seemed to be good friends of Elaine’s. Other questions took precedence, however. One of which he hardly dare ask.
“And what about his… er… condition? I mean, I think he’s a nice sort and seems to know his stuff. But he’s… an invalid. Can he even…”
Ruben turned away.
Laughing, Elaine rubbed her still rather flat stomach.
“Oh yes, Father! He can.”
Kura and William went to Caleb’s wedding if only to prove that they did not hold a grudge. To Kura, that was important for personal reasons; to William, it just made good business sense. Caleb’s music arrangements had struck a chord with the public. They were the ideal mix of art and entertainment, contemporary composition and folk music. If there was ever going to be a sequel to “Ghost Whispers,” a renewed collaboration would be desirable. In order to secure that, William also buttered up Florence Weber, as it was clear to him who would be pulling the strings.
Nevertheless, on their wedding day Florence used a light touch. She serenely ignored Caleb’s animated conversation with the young female pianist William and Kura had brought with them from Blenheim. White-skinned, light blonde, and almost ethereally beautiful, she seemed to experience reality only in harmonies and notes. In daily life, she proved to be even less conversational than Kura—Marisa Clerk did not merely answer only with yes or no but often ignored the question altogether. Elaine found her dull, but she drew downright unearthly notes from the Billers’ piano. Her piano dialogue with Kura’s putorino gave new dimension to the piece. The music even appeared to captivate Florence herself, at whose patronizing request the artists gave a small taste of their skills.
Florence, however, was not disposed to criticize anyone on her wedding day. She floated through the festivities, her radiant felicity almost rendering her beautiful. Not that her far-too-elaborate and overly laden wedding dress—bedecked with flounces and little bows, pearls and lace—did much to emphasize what few advantages she had. Florence had ordered the dress in Christchurch, and it reflected the tastes of the Weber and Biller ladies. Caleb appeared to shudder briefly at his first glimpse of the church but then composed himself commendably. Both participants presented the picture of harmony—at least during the official portion of the event.
Caleb kissed the bride according to custom in the church and then once more after the ceremony in front of the assembled workers of his mine. Later, he opened the dancing with Florence, who tried very hard not to lead. Afterward, however, each of them retreated to his or her realm of interest. While Caleb chatted with Marisa about music, Florence spoke with the business manager of the Blackburn mine about extraction techniques. She no longer spoke to Timothy Lambert. Now that they no longer ignored her, she assumed the attitude of the other mining bosses, treating Timothy with the same kind indulgence she would treat a child who simply will not understand why he cannot play too.
Timothy ended up alone with a glass of whiskey at the edge of the festivities. He observed the lively goings-on from the winter garden of the Webers’ town house. Elaine danced giddily with her brother Stephen, who had shown up unannounced two days earlier to surprise his long-lost sister. Though she waved to Timothy occasionally, she was wholly absorbed in seeing her family again, and Timothy could not hold that against her. He liked the O’Keefes and enjoyed talking with them. But Ruben was deep in conversation with Greymouth’s justice of the peace just then, and Timothy did not want to disturb them. Maybe it was nonsense, and the men would have been happy to include him, but he hardly dared join any group anymore—too often he only provoked embarrassed looks at his crutches when he did so. The women were even worse than the men. Their pity came across as condescension, and they treated him like a sick child.
Timothy had tried to move past the bitter realization that, as far as the people who counted in Greymouth were concerned, the Lamberts’ heir had died that December twentieth in his mine. The miners might still venerate the shadow of him as they would a saint, and the better society might, in certain respects, grant him the status of a martyr, but no one had work for saints or martyrs.
Kura and William ended up joining him, both overheated from dancing and, in truth, in search of a quiet corner to exchange caresses. After Blenheim, the two of them were more in love than ever before. Not even Ruben O’Keefe, who could never entirely forgive William and who still treated Kura rather coolly, could resist their glow of marital bliss.
“What are you doing here?” Kura asked, tapping Timothy on the shoulder. “Sitting around and moping?”
Timothy smiled at her. She was wearing a new dress—a silk affair in various shades of blue from the workshop of the superbly talented Mrs. O’Brien—and flowers in her hair like a South Seas beauty. Now that she had been recognized as an artist, she wanted to dress in a suitably sophisticated manner, and given her good taste, she knew precisely how to fully emphasize her looks.
“I’m sitting here trying not to envy Florence Biller too much.” Timothy tried to make it sound like a joke, but his voice sounded bitter. “Starting tomorrow, she’s going to take over the Biller Mine, probably not in one blow, but she’ll have an office there in no more than a month. Meanwhile, I have to watch strangers, investors, take over Lambert Mines and parade other engineers in front of me who have no advantages over me other than that they could beat me in a race.”
“Has your father found buyers then?” William inquired. “I haven’t heard a
nything yet.”
Timothy shrugged. “I’ll probably be the last to know. At the very least, I’ll know after Florence.”
Kura smiled. “You’re speaking up a little late,” she teased. “If you’d announced your interest in her position a little earlier, Caleb would doubtless have preferred you to his dear Florence.”
9
Are you going to town? If so, I can take you.”
Matt Gawain, who had become close friends with Timothy by now, observed Timothy struggling onto Fellow while one of the Lamberts’ stableboys hitched an elegant coach horse to Nellie Lambert’s private chaise. It was a cold, wet spring morning, and Matt thought the covered coach would be greatly preferable to a ride through the rain.
Timothy, however, shook his head grimly. “I’m not riding for my own amusement but to build up my muscles. Did you know that the simple act of sitting on a horse exercises fifty-six muscles?”
Matt shrugged. “And how many does the horse use?” he asked.
Timothy didn’t answer but looked with astonishment at the fine vehicle Matt was just then climbing into.
“How did you earn the honor of being able to drive my mother’s own caroche? An excursion with Charlene? On an ordinary Wednesday?”
“You don’t really believe that your mother would lend me the coach for Charlene, do you? No, it’s for a meeting with an investor. I’m supposed to pick the gentleman up from the train station and drive him here before the Webers get their mitts on him. Old man Weber arranged the meeting somehow, but your father wants to handle the negotiations on his own. So far he’s even sober.” Matt took the reins, and Timothy began riding alongside the coach.
“Typical that he didn’t breathe a word to me about it. I’m fed up with the whole business and can’t leave soon enough. There’s a ship leaving for London next week. But once again without us.”