‘And, Fanny, on the third day, my husband was, indeed, almost completely restored — to the amazement of his doctor. And, very unwillingly, since he purported to disbelieve such nonsense and wizardry, he rode to the pa, where he found the tribe gathered for his arrival because the tohunga had told them he would be with them on that day.’
‘But that is quite astounding …’
‘If I had not witnessed it, I should have said it was the stuff of fairy tales.’
The longer Miss Colville remained with us at Moleskin Hall, the more I began to realise that it was only in Te Toa’s company — and hers — that I felt myself truly free to think, to speak, to act as I believed, untrammelled by the strictures of polite society. I longed for Te Toa with a physical, corporeal intensity which frightened me. When we two were alone, it seemed as though we constituted the whole world but, hedged about by the need for secrecy and caution, these interludes were stolen and infrequent. I dreamed of some nameless place where we might openly meet, and was seized by a burning need to share the intensity of my passion, to make it somehow solid and real, a fact not an illusion. But I dared not yield to it.
I found myself slipping Te Toa’s name into my conversations with Lucy and Lady Martin, even with Miss Colville, but guardedly, so that it seemed no more than a casual remarking. And the pleasure it afforded me to hear others speak warmly of him or praise him was a secret joy that I clutched greedily to myself.
AOTEAROA
Behind his whare at Waikanae, Mr Hadfield had a little yard where he tied up his two horses on which he travelled all the time to Otaki and back. When he rode along the sands to Otaki, and stayed in his hut among the bare dunes, he was obliged to tether them to a hook in the side of his potato store there and carry their water from the pa across the sand-hills.
I remembered our mother’s words: ‘Disgraceful that such a man as Harawira should be forced to fetch water like a common Maori. Here at Waikanae, we respect our missionary.’
And whenever Mr Hadfield was back with us, she had set Hone and me to brushing the horses and bringing them water in a Pakeha pail.
Hone and I longed to ride them but, said Mr Hadfield, ‘I depend on them for my journeys, so I am obliged not to work them too hard.’
‘But when you are sick,’ said Hone, ‘I could take them for a gallop along the sands at low tide. Just to exercise them a little.’
‘That is very kind of you, Hone,’ said Mr Hadfield, ‘but Te Ahu, who helps me here with my Mission work, has promised to take care of them. And he needs them for his own journeys to and from Otaki.’
It was Te Ahu who had taught Mr Hadfield to speak the Maori tongue. Although he was from Ngatiawa, he had been with Mr Te Kara Wha Williams in the North where he had learnt to read and write the words of Te Ariki. Then, Te Kara Wha had sent him back home to assist Mr Hadfield.
‘Te Ahu,’ said Hone to me later, ‘knows nothing about how to ride a horse properly. Whereas I often used to ride our stepfather’s horse and I—’
‘Wish to parade on a horse before the other boys on the sands,’ I said. ‘Think of what our mother said to us.’
‘Our mother is gone now,’ said Hone, ‘and you had better run away now, too, Makareta, before I lock you in the hen whare.’
AUCKLAND, 1851
‘Come and help me, Fanny,’ said Lucy. ‘It’s the placement for tonight’s dinner. I think I shall have to select Miss Colville’s partners at table with great care.’
‘So do I! But surely she’ll be on the Governor’s right.’ I laughed. ‘Poor Sir George. She does quiz him quite harshly. Why not place General Pitt on her left? He’ll enjoy her forthright manner.’
‘That’s an excellent idea. She is rather like a soldier.’
‘Not entirely, but you must own she speaks her mind, and so does the general.’
Miss Colville made her entrance to the dinner in an even more flamboyant silk bloomer costume than usual.
‘Hand-dyed,’ she explained to Lady Martin, ‘by the Turcoman women. It’s their speciality. You see the delicacy of the colours.’
‘Indeed, I do. You’ve spent time among the Turcomans?’
‘Two years. My youngest brother, Septimus, and I travelled widely in the Persian and Ottoman territories.’
‘But, surely,’ said Mrs Rough, ‘it was extremely dangerous?’
‘By no means. We bought camels on our arrival, hired an experienced guide and I wore the robes adopted by Septimus. We passed an immensely fascinating time there. It is always surprising to me how much simpler it is for a member of the female sex to penetrate the interior of such societies.’
‘How so?’ enquired Sir George.
Bishop Selwyn assumed an air of pained expectation.
‘Why, Governor, the hammam. Possibly one of the most refreshing experiences of the Orient.’
‘Hammam?’ asked Mrs Wynyard.
‘The Ottoman steam bath and massage.’
‘You mean,’ said Mrs Selwyn, ‘you partook of … of … er … a communal bath with the infidel?’
‘With their women. Yes, of course. I must tell you it is one of the most civilised experiences one may undergo. For their own women, it is generally a form of restraint since, as I’m sure you know, they may not have any bodily hair before they present themselves to their husbands so they must undergo a most painful process of waxing and plucking, but I, being European—’
I saw Mrs Rough exchange glances with Mrs Selwyn.
The Bishop drew breath. ‘Ah, Maud, do please excuse my interruption, but am I not right in thinking that Septimus has lately been appointed Prebendary of Lincoln?’
‘You are correct. And he is much engaged in the study of the images of the Green Man there. Quite pagan, of course.’
‘Now, what I wish to know,’ said Lady Martin briskly, ‘is how you are enjoying life in Auckland.’
‘Very much. I am quite committed to making a home here. I’ve begun to study the Maori language and, now I am more settled, I would like to offer my assistance at your little hospital.’
‘We should be most grateful for your help. I understand from Sarah that you have had … nursing … experience at Home?’
‘Quite so. As you may imagine, I was met with fierce opposition from most of my family.’
‘Well, it is not exactly the calling that gentlewomen at Home generally—’
‘You are right, Sir William. And conditions in the hospitals there are even worse than is commonly believed. The nurses are frequently drunk, and share wards, and often even beds, with the patients. But I was less interested in hospital work than in assisting the women of the poorer classes in their own homes. And when my father saw that I was entirely determined upon my course, he assigned two of our burliest grooms to accompany me about the East End.’
‘I take it,’ said Sir George, ‘that you were you motivated by a spirit of Christian endeavour.’
‘It was my intention, Sir George, to be useful. I have no time for the common lot of women sitting at home sewing or lying about with the vapours. I have noticed that many of the pioneer women in this colony seem to enjoy a more active form of existence than their counterparts at Home.’
‘I have observed to Miss Thompson that it is a feature of life here,’ said Lady Martin, pleased.
‘The brutality of the lives of those poor East End women was appalling, but in my work among them I was constantly struck by how the lack of constriction of the female body by lacing ensured simpler deliveries of their infants, in the manner, no doubt, that God intended.’
The Bishop shifted uneasily on his chair. Perhaps he divined what was about to come.
‘So I, myself,’ continued Maud, apparently oblivious, ‘have entirely abandoned lacing. I regard it as a modern form of the chastity belt.’
‘I cannot suppose, Maud,’ said the Bishop, ‘that if Her Majesty sees fit to lace, it is for the females of the poor to take it upon themselves to set an example to their sisters.’
‘The Queen laces? I think not, Gas,’ retorted Maud. ‘Have you seen Her Majesty at close quarters?’
‘Miss Thompson, a word, if you please?’
‘Why, certainly, Miss Colville.’
‘Let me begin by inviting you to call me Maud and I shall call you Fanny. It seems so much friendlier.’
‘Thank you … Maud.’
‘You know I am soon to take possession of my farm and its cottage?’
‘Yes, and I hope you’ll be very happy there.’
‘It’s my earnest wish that you and Lady Grey should come to visit me as soon as you may. But, Fanny, I should like to talk to you of other topics. I observe you are an exceedingly pretty young woman but you appear to have no suitor.’
Fearing she might somehow have guessed of Te Toa’s existence, I blushed.
‘Is it that you wish to remain unmarried?’
What I wished was that our conversation should be over swiftly before I in some way betrayed myself. ‘Why, no, not at all.’
‘I understand from the Bishop that you’re in possession of independent means.’
‘That’s true.’
‘Then I beg you to allow me to advise you, my dear. In my own youth, I contracted a marriage with a young man, a charming rogue, penniless but with a silver tongue, who swept me quite off my feet. And, by the time I’d come to my senses, I was married and all control of my considerable fortune, indeed all power over my own life, had passed into his hands. My husband treated me with contempt, dismissing my ideas as worthless. Having studied with my brothers’ tutors I am exceedingly well educated, but to him this counted for nothing.’
‘So how did you free yourself from him?’
‘By the greatest piece of good fortune, within fifteen months of our marriage and before I had borne any children, he succumbed to the cholera.’
‘Would you not have liked children?’
‘No. They don’t interest me in the least. I’m not at all fond of children.’
‘But surely you were a little saddened by his death?’
‘Not a jot. For me, it was a merciful escape and I learnt from it a most valuable lesson. Until we women have control of our own money, after marriage as much as before it, we will forever be no better than slaves at the mercy of any fortune-hunter. You, my dear, must take the greatest care in your choice of a husband. You’re a thoughtful young woman and you might do much good with your fortune. When you and your sister come to visit, I shall show you some pamphlets I’ve written regarding women’s place in society and you must tell me, honestly, what you think of such ideas.’
‘Thank you. I should like that very much. And so, I think, will Lucy.’
She shook her head. ‘Too late. Lady Grey married when she was far too young and unformed.’ She paused, then she said with sudden ferocity, ‘It’s the greatest pity.’
‘I believe she married in order to escape life in Albany,’ I said. ‘But I’m sure that, at the time, she believed she was in love …’
‘Which she is clearly not now, though she remains entirely dependent on the Governor, reinforcing his view that woman is a chattel granted to man by God.’
‘He is not alone in that.’
‘Alas, no. And though he’s a clever man of great ability, if I’m truthful … Sir George lacks decisiveness. And, of course, his addiction makes his behaviour unpredictable.’
I stared at her. ‘His addiction? What do you mean?’
‘My dear Fanny, you’ve been living so long in this house, surely you’re aware that the Governor, like half the population, is addicted to laudanum.’
‘I’m sure you’re quite wrong.’
‘Not at all. Have you not observed how often he requires your sister to bring him the medicine for his hip wound?’
‘But that’s a cordial, prescribed by—’
‘It’s laudanum under a different guise. And laudanum is opium.’
‘Are you saying that Sir George is an opium addict?’
‘Hardly in the sense that one generally uses the term. But his irritability, the erratic changes in his moods, all these speak to me quite visibly of a dependence on laudanum.’
‘He has a hip wound. It’s natural he should seek relief from—’
‘And how was this hip wound occasioned? By his own recklessness in mounting such an ill-conceived expedition in hostile territory of which he had no knowledge at all.’
‘I thought you esteemed Sir George.’
She re-adjusted her turban. ‘In very many ways, I do. But it is his scholarship I admire, not his skills of governance.’
‘Fanny, the most terrible, terrible news! Godfrey is to leave us. You remember Mr Domett, the Colonial Secretary here? You met him at the investiture. Well, my husband has found a post for Godfrey in his office. In Wellington.’
‘And what does Mr Godfrey say to this?’
‘He says he will miss us all so much but he’s delighted to have been offered such a position. Oh, Fanny, it’s so utterly wretched. What shall I do without him?’
‘But the Governor is obliged to spend more and more time in Wellington now, so surely you can accompany him and see Mr Godfrey there. It’s not as if he’s going Home.’
‘Oh, Fanny, you don’t understand at all. Godfrey and I … I …’ She stopped herself. ‘How will I bear it without him?’ She began to weep uncontrollably. ‘Oh, Fanny, what shall I do?’
Since Mr Godfrey’s departure Lucy had barely left her room. The food Johnson took her on a tray was returned untouched. All my efforts to interest her in any sort of activity or pastime were futile; she seemed unable even to engage in conversation with me.
‘Come now,’ I said, ‘and try to rouse yourself a little. Here is a letter for you. From Wellington.’
She sat up at once and snatched it from me. ‘It must be from Godfrey. Yes! I recognise his hand. But why did you not give it to me before?’
‘It has only just arrived. ‘
To my consternation, she began to smother the letter with kisses.
‘You must open it,’ I said, ‘and see what he says.’
She tore at the envelope with her fingers. ‘I knew he hadn’t forgotten me.’ She scanned the paper. ‘Let me see. He says already he misses us all and he sends his warm regards to you, Fanny.’
‘Is he enjoying life in Wellington?’
‘It seems so. What does he say? Yes, here it is. Domett is quite the man about town. George has always spoken highly of his qualities and I see for myself every day how valuable a service he performs for the Government. But he makes no mention of any parties or balls.’ She twisted a piece of her hair around a finger. ‘It seems such a wretched bachelor life he’s leading.’
‘I’m sure you’ll see him again before too long and then you’ll be able to judge for yourself.’
But any hopes I had entertained of Lucy’s spirits reviving after the receipt of her letter were unfounded. Although she had left her bed, she spent most of her time lying on the sofa, tired and listless, uninterested in anything around her. Since she refused to go out, I was left to amuse myself and, as it was well known that I liked to ride, no particular importance was attached to my setting off alone on Tsarina each day.
I had donned my riding-habit and was about to set out in my usual fashion when Sir George came in.
‘Eliza,’ he said, ‘I’ve received a message from Mrs Godley.’
Lucy sighed. ‘Another? What misconduct in the colony is disturbing her now?’
‘It’s about Mr Hadfield.’
‘But Mr Hadfield is the very model of respectability. I don’t see how he could have upset horrid Charlotte G.’
‘She’s concerned about his living arrangements. Some time ago he took two young orphans into his own house, a boy and a girl, and she doesn’t feel it right that the girl should be there still with no woman present.’
‘She’s always interfering. If she feels so strongly, why doesn’t she take in the children herself?’
> ‘She asks if I would call on Mr Hadfield at Otaki when I’m next in Wellington and see what arrangements can be made. She wonders if I might bring the children to the Bishop and see that they’re educated at his new Mission school. But I thought, perhaps, that we might have them here for a time. You know how fond you are of children.’
Lucy appeared to brighten a little. ‘Well, I suppose it would do no harm to consider it. And if they are orphans …’
As had become my custom, I rode to the Domain, tied Tsarina and continued on foot to the little slave settlement that had become our regular meeting place. Te Toa was generally there before me, having taken the precaution of leaving his stallion in a different place entirely. It seemed that the slave settlement was known only to him, for I had never seen anyone else in the vicinity, but I was careful to check about me before disappearing into the bush that surrounded it.
He was standing, looking round for a sign of me. I ran to him and he clasped me against him.
‘Come,’ he said, ‘let us go into one of the huts.’
Since being with Te Toa, I had, for the first time in my life, become conscious of my own body as a source of pleasure. I craved Te Toa’s presence with a physical longing. When I saw him, I felt a throbbing excitement in my breasts, in the privy parts of myself I had never before dared to contemplate. I warned myself against showing any sign of my feelings for him when he came to visit the Governor. But how can it be, I thought, that no one else is aware of the agitation of the very air between us? I was alive to the tension of desire, the hunger to be alone with him, to press myself against his body. When I saw him with others, I felt my eyes brighten, my skin glow, so that I was obliged to cast my eyes down, to deflect the slightest hint of any existing intimacy between us.
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