Isle of Tears (25 page)

Chisolm trotted up, puffing and apologetic. ‘Sorry, Ma’am, he got away from me.’

‘Well, perhaps you could put him back, now that he’s seen his mistress?’ she suggested.

But when Chisolm grasped the end of Laddie’s rope, the dog’s ears went back and he lowered his head and growled menacingly.

‘Could he no’ just stay ootside?’ Isla pleaded. ‘He hates being tied up. He’ll be fine if he kens where I am, I promise.’

Mrs Fairweather hesitated, then reluctantly nodded and gestured to Chisolm to start pushing the chair. When they reached the verandah at the rear of the house, she stopped, and said, ‘Oh.’

There were four steps leading from the gravelled path up onto the verandah, but Chisolm merely turned the chair around and began to heave it up, Isla tightly gripping the arm rests to keep her seat.

‘Stay, Laddie,’ she said as Chisolm wheeled her inside the house. The dog flopped down just outside the door, his long nose on his paws.

Mrs Fairweather led the way down a short hallway with an oiled wooden floor and a fancy rug that rucked beneath the chair’s
wheels. Stooping to disentangle it, she said, ‘Thank you, Chisolm. You may go now.’ She opened a door. ‘This will be your room, Isla. I hope you’ll find it comfortable.’ When the gardener was out of earshot, she added, ‘I took the liberty of putting the commode chair in here. It’s rather a long way down to the privy, especially on cold mornings.’

The walls of the room were painted white, and pale blue curtains and white lace hung at the large window. There was a single brass bedstead, a mirrored wardrobe, a chest of drawers, a ladder-backed chair, a washstand holding a blue willow-pattern ewer and bowl, and a green, cream and blue rug on the floor. It all matched, it all looked fairly new—nothing was chipped or worn out—and it was the nicest bedroom Isla had ever seen.

‘Well, I’ll leave you to settle in, shall I? Then, when you’re ready, you can come and meet my daughters.’

Isla nodded, not trusting herself to speak, as Mrs Fairweather parked her next to the washstand then left, closing the door behind her. She sat for a while, wondering at the strange turn of events that had brought her here—and wondering, for the thousandth time, where Jean and Jamie and the other Ngati Pono children were, and whether they were safe.

She reached for the heavy ewer and poured a measure of water into the bowl. It was cold, but that didn’t matter. There was a small bar of soap on a folded facecloth and towel next to the bowl. She sniffed it—wild rose. Her mother had loved the roses of the Highlands.

She washed her face and hands, wrung out the cloth and
scrubbed at her armpits beneath the hospital nightgown. Taking her time, she soaped and dried one foot, then the toes of the other, then paused, wondering how she was to reach everywhere else without standing up. Hissing with frustration, and using one foot, she propelled the chair over to the bed, gripped the bedpost and pulled herself up. Balancing on one leg with the other stuck stiffly out to one side, she soaped the facecloth, washed between her legs, then blotted herself dry. Suddenly she felt very dizzy and leaned on the bedpost, her head bowed, waiting for the blood pounding through her head to subside.

When a voice exclaimed ‘Get back into that chair this instant, young lady!’ she was startled almost out of her wits.

She turned, her head still spinning, to see Eleanor Fairweather standing in the doorway, hands on hips, looking extremely cross. Isla felt for the chair, but it had rolled out of reach. Mrs Fairweather retrieved it and guided her into it, placing her injured leg back on the leg rest and briskly tucking a blanket around her.

‘I promised Doctor Sillitoe that you would receive better care here than at the hospital. What is he going to say if I have to tell him you’ve had a fall, or some other such calamity, just because you won’t do as you’re told? What is Captain Yale going to say? You have a serious injury, Isla McKinnon, and I’m responsible for making sure that it mends, do you hear me? Really, you’re as bad as Prudence was, and she’s only nine.’

Isla blinked, very taken aback at this new side of Eleanor Fairweather. She was turning out to have a lot more backbone than she had at first appeared to possess.

‘I just wanted a proper wash, that’s all. I couldnae do it sitting doon.’

Mrs Fairweather shook her head irately, a few strands of hair escaping from her bun. ‘Then you should have asked for help. I could have assisted you. Or Lucy. You must not try to do things on your own, Isla. I know how much you must yearn for independence, especially after all that’s happened, but you’re really not in a position to take care of yourself at the moment. You must let me help you.’

Not altogether sure about what Mrs Fairweather was talking about, Isla was pleased all the same that she’d come in when she had. Isla really had thought she might be going to faint.

‘Can I just look in the mirror, then?’

‘Of course you can.’ Mrs Fairweather turned the chair and wheeled Isla over to the wardrobe.

Isla stared at herself, at the cap of pale hair that resembled a bird’s nest, at her wan cheeks, and at the moko standing out in such sharp relief on her chin. She touched it: the ridges were smooth, and completely healed now.

‘Perhaps we could pomade your hair,’ Mrs Fairweather suggested. ‘Or you could wear a bonnet. That might help.’

Isla looked at her in the mirror. ‘Why?’

Mrs Fairweather sighed. ‘Yes, I suppose you’re right, dear. There are more important things to consider.’ She brightened. ‘Well, shall we go along to the drawing room? I’ve not told the girls much about how you’ve come to be here, just that Robert brought you back from the Bay of Plenty.’

As Mrs Fairweather wheeled her determinedly down the hall, Isla felt increasingly uneasy. This was all wrong. She would have nothing to say to these people. Even if she hadn’t been living with Maori for the past few years, what would a Scottish immigrant girl, the daughter of an impoverished crofter, have in common with four young English ladies raised in comfort and wealth? She would be completely out of her depth.

The drawing room was large and, as Isla had expected, beautifully furnished. Two walls consisted almost completely of tall windows and a glass door that opened out onto the verandah, all hung with rich velvet curtains. There were paintings on the walls, a piano in one corner, small polished tables holding elegant figurines and little silver boxes, and armchairs and comfortable couches. On the couches sat four girls, all looking expectantly towards Isla.

Mrs Fairweather announced expansively, ‘Girls, please meet our guest, Mrs Isla McKinnon.’

There was a short silence, then the youngest girl—Prudence, Isla assumed—said, ‘Mama? She isn’t old enough to be married, is she? And what’s happened to her hair?’

‘Hush, dear,’ Eleanor Fairweather urged as she pushed Isla’s chair to a spot near the fire, then sat down herself. Indicating each daughter individually, she said, ‘Isla, this is my eldest, Hope, who is nineteen, almost twenty. Charity is next at eighteen, then Faith, who is seventeen, and of course Prudence.’

Isla saw that Hope was perhaps the plainest of all of them, but still notably attractive, with shining dark brown hair pulled back
into a low bun, large dark eyes, and a pretty smile. Charity, on the other hand, was nothing less than stunning. Her hair was a deep, burnished chestnut, her skin flawlessly pale, and her wide eyes an unusual shade of willow green. Her younger sister Faith was also very pretty, her eyes the same colour as Charity’s, but her hair a copper gold. A large cat with fur almost the same colour sat on her knee. Prudence’s hair was very fair, her cheeks highly coloured, and her eyes a sparkling brown. It looked very much to Isla as though the colour of the Fairweather girls’ hair had become progressively more diluted each time their mother had given birth.

Prudence, wearing a short frock, a crisp white pinafore, stockings and button boots, slid off the couch and limped across the floor towards Isla. Last year’s broken ankle had left its mark.

‘What’s that drawing on your chin?’ Prudence asked.

‘Don’t be nosy, Prudence,’ her mother admonished.

‘Some of the Maori ladies in town have that, don’t they?’ Prudence said, looking to her sisters for affirmation. She turned back to Isla. ‘Are you a Maori?’

‘Prudence!’

‘I’m just asking, Mama!’

‘No, I’m no’ Maori,’ Isla replied, trying not to smile. This little girl reminded her very much of Jean. ‘I’m from Scotland.’

Prudence turned to her mother. ‘We’ve been to Scotland, haven’t we, Mama? When Papa wanted to go stag hunting.’ To Isla, she said, ‘Does your leg hurt? My ankle did when I broke it.’

‘Aye, it does hurt a little. Thank ye verra much for lending me your wheeled chair, Prudence.’

Looking delighted with herself, Prudence sat down again.

‘I hope you like your room,’ Hope Fairweather said from the couch. ‘I was going to put a little vase of fresh flowers in there, but I went out into the garden at dinnertime and I couldn’t find any!’

‘Well, it’s not the right time of year, is it, dear?’ Mrs Fairweather remarked. ‘But it was a lovely thought.’

Hope gave Isla a grin, one that was full and welcoming, and Isla was surprised to feel herself relax a little. She shifted her gaze to Charity, who also smiled, but Isla sensed that it lacked warmth.

‘Yes, we’re all looking forward to having you stay with us,’ Charity said, smoothing the flowered fabric of her lavender dress. Beneath the hem peeked layers of petticoat lace, white-stockinged ankles and dainty white slippers. ‘Mama says you were caught up in the fighting over in the Bay of Plenty. How awful for you.’ Her eyes slid across to Faith’s, and they shared something very close to a smirk. Mrs Fairweather shot both of her daughters a sharp look, but Charity ignored it. ‘Tell me, is it really true that when the Maoris—’

Mrs Fairweather stood quickly and gave the bell-pull beside the mantel a good yank, glaring pointedly at Charity. ‘I think it’s time we had tea, don’t you?’

They sat in silence for some minutes, until Mrs Fairweather finally snapped, ‘Charity, go and see what’s keeping that girl, will you, please?’ When Charity had gone, she said to Isla, ‘Really, good help is so hard to get these days. Lucy’s only fifteen and I still have to pay her twelve pounds per annum to keep her here. I
don’t know what domestic service is coming to, I really don’t.’

When Lucy finally appeared, she was carrying a large wooden tray laden with cake and sandwiches. Lucy herself was a little over five feet tall, dark-haired and sullen-looking. She regarded Isla curiously for a moment, then dropped her gaze as she placed the tray on a table and set out cups and saucers.

‘What would you like, Isla?’ Hope asked, the back of her crinoline springing back into shape as she stood up. ‘There are all sorts of lovely treats. Would you like to try something?’

Isla was starving, having had nothing but a cup of tea that morning before the surgeon attended to her leg, but she knew that her manners would almost certainly be found wanting. ‘No, thank ye.’

‘Well, I’ll get you a plate anyway, shall I?’ Hope said, and brought Isla a selection of sandwiches and a slice of some sort of fruit cake.

Charity reappeared, helped herself to cake and subsided onto a couch in a flurry of skirts. ‘Is Captain Yale coming back this evening, Mama?’

‘Yes, he did say he would drop by.’ Mrs Fairweather accepted a cup of tea from Lucy.

‘How,
exactly
, did you meet the captain, Mrs McKinnon?’ Charity asked coolly. ‘No one has enlightened us.’

Isla heard something in the other girl’s voice that sounded a lot like resentment, perhaps even jealousy. She waited until Charity had taken a mouthful of cake, then said, ‘I wis travelling across country when I fell from ma horse. Captain Yale verra kindly
came tae ma assistance. I dinnae ken what I would’ve done wi’oot him. He wis so verra gallant towards me.’

Charity choked on her cake. Startled, the cat shot off Faith’s knee and bolted from the room, making Lucy jump and spill the tea. Mrs Fairweather squeaked, Hope covered her smile with her hand, and Prudence collapsed back on the couch, laughing hysterically. Isla smiled calmly at Charity.

‘You didn’t tell me that, Mama!’ she said through clenched teeth. ‘You didn’t tell me he’d
rescued
her!’

Eleanor Fairweather put down her cup and blotted her lips with a linen napkin. Then she stood, crossed the floor, grasped Charity’s arm and bustled her out of the drawing room. A moment later, Faith hurried after them.

Hope looked at Isla apologetically. ‘I’m very sorry, Isla. Charity has set her cap at Captain Yale, and she’s used to getting whatever she wants. She is very beautiful, as you can see, and…well, she does use it. Prudence! Will you stop that half-witted giggling!’

They all glanced up at the ceiling then, as the sound of raised voices drifted down to them.

Still snorting, Prudence sat up, brushed crumbs off her pinafore, then limped across to help herself to more food. ‘What
did
happen to your hair?’ she asked through a mouthful of cake. ‘Did the Maoris cut it off?’

‘No. I did it masel’,’ Isla said.

‘Why?’

Hope looked very annoyed. ‘Prudence,
please
mind your own business.’

Prudence said, ‘I like your dog, Isla. I threw sticks for him this morning. He couldn’t run far, though. He was tied up.’

Isla smiled. ‘Aye, he’s a good wee beastie’

‘Actually, he bit Captain Yale’s hand last night,’ Hope interjected.

Although it wasn’t really very funny, she and Isla looked at each other and burst out laughing.

That evening, in private, Eleanor Fairweather apologized to Isla for Charity’s unpleasant behaviour.

‘I love her dearly, but she has always been very…well, strong-willed. And her father does spoil her dreadfully, so she’s become accustomed to having her own way. Being so pretty doesn’t help, either. I’m afraid it’s given her airs. Faith isn’t much better, and unfortunately she looks to Charity for an example of how to behave.’ Mrs Fairweather sat down. ‘Anyway, Charity is rather taken with Captain Yale. Has been, in fact, for some years, since he first became a friend of the family. Charity was only fourteen then. Robert’s a bachelor, you know. He comes from a moneyed family and has made quite a name for himself as a soldier. Charity believes it to be only a matter of time before he asks for her hand.’