Isle of Tears (24 page)

The door opened yet again, and she sighed. He sat down on the chair and looked at her.

‘We’ll be docking soon, in about half an hour. My men will disembark, then you’ll be taken off. I’ll make sure you go straight to the hospital to see my friend there.’

‘I want tae see ma dog,’ Isla said.

‘You can, as soon as you’ve disembarked.’

‘I want tae see him now.’

‘Well, you can’t. This is the commander’s cabin and I don’t think he’d appreciate having a smelly, barking dog let loose in it.’

He’s been barking all day long, Isla thought. He must be fretting terribly.

‘Isla,’ Robert said.

She looked at him.

‘I have to ask you something. The clothes you were wearing, the jacket and trousers, and the horse and the carbine, they all belonged to a soldier named Jensen. He was a dispatch rider.’

Isla waited.

‘He was found dead almost two weeks ago, in the bush not far from Maketu.’ Robert hesitated. ‘I have to ask you: were you responsible for his death?’

Isla was taken aback, but tried not to let it show. ‘No. He wis deid when I came across him. At the bottom o’ a bank near a burn. But I did take his claes and his horse. And his carbine.’ Robert’s face was impassive, and she couldn’t tell whether he believed her or not.

He held her gaze. ‘Have you any idea what killed him?’

There was no harm in telling him the truth about this—too bad about his genteel English sensitivities. ‘I think he wis aboot tae have a shite. His breeks were round his ankles when I found him. His neck wis broken. I think he must have fallen doon the bank.’

Robert thought it sounded so mundane that it could well be the truth. But he was well aware of how much he wanted it to be. ‘And the papers in his dispatch bag?’

‘Aye, I read them, then I burnt them.’

Just in time, Robert stopped himself from commenting on this unexpected admission that she could read. The picture of her history he had been forming in his mind hadn’t included that. ‘Why did you read them?’

Isla didn’t answer.

‘Did you tell anyone else about what the papers said?’

‘No. Why should I? None o’ it wis important tae me.’

Robert hadn’t been told exactly what information Jensen had been couriering, but had garnered that it hadn’t in fact been particularly vital. And it wasn’t what mattered here.

‘What sort of information
would
have been important to you, Isla?’ he asked at last.

Isla met his gaze. ‘I dinnae ken what ye mean.’

Robert regarded his boots for a long moment. ‘Do you consider yourself to be a Kingite, Isla?’

Isla didn’t respond but continued to stare at the top of his head, willing him to look up and see the answer in her face.

‘You must know that I have to place you under arrest,’ he said.

‘But I didnae kill the Jensen laddie. I told ye that.’

Now he did look up. ‘No, but there are still questions to be answered. I’m sorry, but I am duty-bound to retain you.’

Isla snorted and pointed at her leg. ‘And where d’ye think I’d be going wi’ that? Certainly no’ verra far.’

‘Nevertheless, I’m afraid you’re going to have to remain under guard.’

‘Will I be sent tae prison?’

‘Prison?’ Robert exclaimed, aghast. ‘No, you won’t be sent to prison. To begin with you wouldn’t get the medical attention you need.’

Isla thought of all the Maori men, and women, who had been incarcerated over the past few years. Why not her? At that moment she would have given anything to be among other Maori; people with whom she could talk openly, with whom she could feel at ease.

‘So where will I go?’

‘I’m hoping to arrange board for you at the home of some friends of mine, a very nice family named Fairweather. John Fairweather is a major in the army, although I believe he’s on campaign at the moment.’

Given that she wouldn’t be able to go anywhere until her leg had mended, Isla decided that it would not matter where she slept. And a private house would be sure to offer opportunities for escape when the time came. Because as soon as she was able, she
would be heading back to Opotiki again to try and pick up Jean and Jamie’s trail. She said, ‘I’ll no’ be able tae pay anything.’

‘You won’t be expected to.’

‘And I dinnae take charity.’

‘I understand that,’ Robert said quickly. ‘I’m sure we can come to some arrangement.’

He would pay for it himself, if he had to. Anything that might allow him to continue seeing her.

I
sla was carried off the ship on a stretcher just before sunset, Laddie bounding alongside, trying to lick her face and hands and getting in the way of the sailors. Commander Leland had ordered him to be put on a lead, but no one had been game enough to go after him with a rope. Isla was as delighted to see him as he was her. She was sorry, though, that she had not had an opportunity to say goodbye to Prince, who would no doubt be off to the army stables Robert had told her about.

Still on her stretcher, she was loaded onto a cart. The wind was rising and it felt like rain, so when Robert appeared with several blankets she was grateful. As Laddie leapt into the cart, Robert climbed onto the seat next to the driver while two of his men followed on foot, their muskets conspicuous.

The street up from the wharf was rough and pot-holed, and Isla winced every time the cart lurched. As the road began to climb,
then became even steeper, Isla felt the stretcher beneath her start to slip towards the end of the cart. She reached out a hand and hung onto the side. The buildings they passed were either of wood or brick, the brick edifices looking considerably newer. There were stores, several with verandahs, and houses, but many were large business premises such as warehouses. Although night had fallen, there was a busyness and bustle that Isla hadn’t experienced since the McKinnons had lived in Adelaide. The smell, of sewage and open drains, was also familiar.

As the cart wove its way along various streets, the soldiers striding after it, she began to nod off. It was fully dark now, and there were no street lamps. Smells assailed her—drains, sawdust, food cooking, animal manure—and the quality of the streets’ surfaces declined the farther they travelled from the waterfront, but, eventually, she fell asleep.

When she drowsily awoke again, the captain and his men were lifting her off the cart. One lost his grip on the end of the stretcher, jolting her leg, and then she was wide awake, waves of pain surging up her body. Robert barked at the soldier, who muttered, then fell silent. Before them was a wooden building with two prominent gables. A woman in a dark dress and a white apron stood at the door, apparently waiting for them.

‘Where am I?’ Isla asked.

‘The Colonial Hospital,’ Robert replied, as he negotiated the stretcher up the low steps.

They carried her inside, along a gloomy, narrow corridor and into a room containing four iron beds, only one of which was
unoccupied. Groans and mutters came from the others, and the whole place reeked of something sharp and unpleasant.

When she had been painfully decanted onto the hard mattress of the vacant bed, Robert said, ‘I’ll leave you with Matron now, but I’ll come back tomorrow to see how you are.’ He nodded at one of the soldiers who had slumped resignedly onto a wooden chair nearby, his musket propped against the wall behind him. ‘I’m afraid one of my men has to stay with you.’

Isla said nothing, wishing they would all go away and leave her alone. Robert went, but the matron didn’t. She produced a small bottle, but not a smile.

‘Doctor Sillitoe won’t be seeing you until the morning. This is something to help you sleep and to deaden any pain you might have.’

Isla regarded her in silence, noting the way that the woman’s mouth seemed permanently turned down at the corners.

‘You’ll have it if you know what’s good for you,’ Matron said, easing the cork out of the bottle.

Isla did know what was good for her, and it wasn’t opium or whatever the woman wanted to give her. But she swallowed it anyway; the pain in her leg had become unbearable. Minutes later, she was asleep again.

Isla awoke the next morning to the sound of someone saying her name. A second later, dull, throbbing pain enveloped her. Blearily, she forced open her eyes.

‘Wake up, Mrs McKinnon, the doctor’s here to see you.’

The doctor was a tall, youngish man in a smart suit and spectacles. ‘Good morning, young lady,’ he said conversationally. ‘I’m Doctor Sillitoe. How’s the leg?’

‘Verra sore.’

‘Yes, I expect it would be. Matron, bring me some shears, if you will.’

Isla looked at him, alarmed.

He smiled, and it was a kind smile. ‘Don’t worry, I’m just going to remove the bandages and have a look.’

After he’d done so, he announced brightly, ‘Fairly severe break, I’m afraid. But not coming through the skin, fortunately. I’ll line it up as best I can and set it in plaster of Paris. How does that sound? You’ll be off it for quite a while, though.’

Isla’s heart sank. ‘How long?’

Sillitoe shrugged. ‘Two or three months? It depends on how it mends.’

Dismayed, Isla struggled to sit. ‘No, I cannae wait that long. Can ye no’ do something quicker?’

‘Well, I could amputate it. Would you rather I did that?’

Isla made a face and lay back on the mean little pillow.

‘No, I didn’t think so,’ the doctor said. ‘I’ll finish my rounds, then come back to you. You’ll have to be unconscious while I set the break, which is going to hurt.’ He removed his spectacles and brought his face closer to hers. ‘Speaking of which, may I ask you about that pattern on your chin? What do you call it?’

‘Kauae, or moko.’

‘Cow-eh,’ the doctor repeated, looking pleased with himself. ‘It’s done with a chisel, isn’t it?’

Isla nodded.

‘And what is the pigment used?’

‘Charcoal.’

‘Hmm. Interesting.’ He turned away. ‘Can you prepare her, please, Matron?’

As he walked off, the matron asked, ‘Do you need a pan?’

Isla shifted uncomfortably; her back was beginning to ache from lying down. ‘What would I want a pan for?’

Matron sighed exasperatedly. It had been a very long shift, and she still had things to do before she could go home. ‘Do you need to empty your bladder?’

‘Oh. Aye, I do.’

Matron fetched an odd-looking receptacle and helped Isla manoeuvre it beneath her buttocks, then whipped a curtain around the bed. Isla tried, but couldn’t let go. It seemed a very perverse thing, to wee in bed. Finally, her bursting bladder won out, and she grimaced as she imagined the mimi going up her back and all over the white sheets. The matron came back, removed the pan, and gave Isla a nightgown to put on instead of the dirty army jacket she was still wearing. She produced the laudanum bottle again, and this time Isla swallowed the contents gratefully.

It was mid-afternoon when Isla awoke. Her head throbbed, her mouth felt woolly, and there was a woman sitting on a chair next
to her bed. Small-featured and pretty, she was wearing a fine crinoline gown, a dainty bonnet with velvet ribbons, and a very beautiful black lace shawl. Gold gleamed at her ears and fingers, and a brooch with a dark red stone adorned the high neck of her bodice.

She smiled, leaned forward and touched Isla’s arm with a gloved hand. ‘Hello, dear. I’m Eleanor Fairweather. Robert Yale came to see me last night. We had a long talk and we’re very much looking forward to having you stay with us while you recuperate. Robert was here earlier, but you were still asleep. I’ve spoken to Doctor Sillitoe, and he’s more than happy for you to come home with me this afternoon.’

Isla blinked. She looked across the room and saw that a soldier still sat on the wooden chair. ‘Home tae where?’

‘Why, our house in Parnell, of course. Obviously, you’re not able to look after yourself at the moment, and Robert said…’ She trailed off, looking vaguely embarrassed, and glanced at the soldier. ‘Well, frankly, he said that you are under arrest, and that he needs to talk with you about some matters regarding the situation in the Bay of Plenty. I didn’t pry, and I certainly do not need to know the details if you don’t wish to discuss them, but there is really nowhere else suitable for you to go. The prison, of course, is out of the question. And such a long way away.’

She sat back, as though settling in for a long and comfortable chat. ‘When the regiment of my husband, Major John Fairweather, was sent here two years ago, we came with him. He’s on campaign in Taranaki at the moment, and I and our four daughters have
been left here in Auckland to twiddle our thumbs! Of course, there’s plenty for me to do, charity work and the church and what have you, but Robert is a very dear friend and when he asked me to help, naturally I said yes. It’s a big house with plenty of room, and, to be honest, it will do my daughters good to share it for a while.’ She regarded Isla compassionately. ‘Robert said that you’ve been having a very difficult time of it lately.’

Startled and disconcerted by the woman’s kindness, Isla felt tears pricking at her eyes. People kept being nice to her, and she didn’t want that; her heart was like granite and she wanted it to stay that way, so that nothing would weaken her resolve to somehow find Jean and Jamie.

‘Laddie!’ she said suddenly. ‘Where’s ma dog?’

‘Safely tied up at my house,’ Mrs Fairweather said. ‘Robert brought it with him last night. It bit him, you know.’

Isla pointed at the soldier. ‘Does he have tae come wi’ us?’

‘Private Hetfield? Yes, he does, I’m afraid. Do you have any belongings with you?’

‘No, I’ve no’ even any claes.’ Isla sat up, checking that her boots were on the floor by the bed. Her right leg felt extraordinarily heavy; she pulled the sheet off to discover that it was encased in plaster from mid-thigh all the way down to her foot, her toes poking grubbily out from the white casing. ‘I had a skirt in ma peke, but I dinnae ken where that is.’

‘Robert delivered that last night as well, but we’ll have to find more than that for you to wear.’ Mrs Fairweather gave a wry smile. ‘I’m sure that my daughters Faith and Charity will have
something. They’re both close to your size. You’ll meet them this afternoon.’ The patient in the bed across the room made a loud and vulgar noise and Mrs Fairweather stood briskly, calling for a porter with the authority of someone who was accustomed to receiving immediate attention. ‘I think it’s time we left, Isla. This really isn’t the most pleasant of environments, is it?’

With a rug tucked over her knees, Isla was taken to the house in Parnell in Eleanor Fairweather’s four-seater trap. She had never ridden in such a smart rig before. Private Hetfield had to lift her into it, which he did with obvious reluctance, earning a sharp look from Mrs Fairweather. He must still believe that she was a Kingite spy. Or a murderess. From the hospital, they drove through open country studded with manuka and toetoe.

‘Is this your first visit to Auckland, Isla?’ Mrs Fairweather asked. ‘Yes? Well, this is the Government Domain. If you look to your left, you can see the harbour and the town. Parnell is just over the hill.’

Isla didn’t care where it was. The pain in her leg had improved markedly now that it was immobile, but the lurching and jolting of the trap was still hurting her. Eventually, Mrs Fairweather turned into a carriageway running down the side of a large, two-storeyed wooden house. Private Hetfield, on horseback, followed.

The house was very grand. A verandah with fancy balustrades and fretwork ran around both the ground and first floors, and a large portico extended out over a front door panelled with jewel-
coloured stained glass. The gardens, although clearly only recently established, were laid out with precision, beds of roses already pruned for the winter.

The back yard was enormous, containing more gardens, a stable and several outbuildings. Mrs Fairweather halted the trap at the rear of the house and climbed down. A moment later a man wearing moleskin trousers and a blue serge shirt appeared, hat in hand.

Untying the ribbons on her bonnet, Mrs Fairweather said, ‘Chisolm, I wonder whether you would go inside and fetch the wheeled chair?’ To Isla, she explained, ‘Chisolm is our gardener and jack of all trades. His wife is our cook.’

Chisolm inclined his head, murmured ‘Ma’am’, and went into the house.

‘We had the chair when Prudence, my youngest, broke her ankle last year. I’m so pleased that we thought to keep it. And I’ve asked Lucy, our housemaid, to prepare one of the downstairs bedrooms for you. You won’t be climbing stairs with your leg in that condition, will you?’ Mrs Fairweather gasped and stepped smartly forward as Isla shuffled to the edge of the seat. ‘Oh, do wait until Chisolm gets back with the chair. You’ll fall if you try to get down by yourself.’

Frustrated and annoyed, Isla sat back. Gardener? Cook? Housemaid? Clearly the Fairweathers were another of those privileged English families rich enough to pay others to look after them.

When the chair arrived—an odd contraption with a wicker
seat and back, large spoked wheels at the front and smaller ones at the rear—Chisolm manoeuvred it alongside the trap, then helped Isla down and into it. Crouching, he extended one of the leg rests and indicated that she should place her injured leg on it, which she did, banging the cast on the wheel rim and grimacing.

‘Do be careful, dear,’ Mrs Fairweather admonished. ‘Now, I’ve asked Mrs Chisolm to prepare a nice afternoon tea for us, to welcome you, but perhaps you’d like to freshen up first in your room?’

‘But where’s ma dog?’ Isla asked. ‘Ye said before he wis here.’

‘Oh, yes, of course. Chisolm, can you bring it around, please? Does it have a name, Isla?’

‘Aye, it’s Laddie.’

‘Well, that’s a good Scottish name for a dog, isn’t it?’ Mrs Fairweather said brightly.

Chisolm trudged reluctantly off towards the stables and Isla wondered nervously if Laddie had had a go at him. She hoped not. She couldn’t bear for him to be locked up or, even worse, sent away or destroyed.

A minute later there was a shout of dismay, and Laddie came racing across the back garden, his ears pricked and his tongue hanging out, a rope trailing behind him. Barking ear-splittingly, he made straight for Isla and tried to jump up onto her lap. Laughing, she hugged him and buried her face in his neck, not noticing that he was dirtying Mrs Fairweather’s clean rug.

Mrs Fairweather’s hands fluttered ineffectually, but she made no move to intervene, noting with surprise how pretty the girl
was when she smiled. Her eyes were an extraordinary shade of blue. If it weren’t for the dreadful haircut and that barbaric tattoo on her chin, she would be really rather lovely. She was beginning to see why Robert Yale was so fascinated by her. And it worried her.