Kitty (18 page)

‘Ae.’

Kitty blurted, ‘And he won’t sign the treaty, either, when he realises a missionary is responsible,’ then felt like kicking herself as she remembered that signing was the last thing Captain Farrell wanted. She closed her eyes against a fresh wave of tears; she had just ruined Wai’s chances of escape.

A small grunt made her open them again: the captain was handing Wai into the rowboat.

‘
Kitty
!’ Wai wailed.

Kitty waded into the waves, leant over the gunwale and hugged her friend. ‘It will be all right, I promise. Look after yourself. And the baby.’

‘Come with me,’ Wai begged.

Kitty shook her head. ‘I can’t.’

‘Why not?’

‘I just can’t, that’s all.’ Because she was too scared to, but she wasn’t going to admit to that. Not in front of Rian Farrell.

‘Stand back,’ Rian said, and as Kitty moved away he gave the prow of the rowboat a shove into deeper water and jumped in.

Kitty went to stand next to Haunui on the sand. He seemed as shocked and dismayed as she felt.

‘She will be safe now,’ he said as the boat turned and set out for the
Katipo
anchored further out in the harbour. He raised his hand to return Wai’s wave. She looked very small and alone sitting in the middle of the boat. ‘What will you do?’

Kitty shook her head. ‘I don’t know.’

‘You should have gone. Tupehu will blame somebody.’

‘I hope that will be Uncle George. Then maybe we’ll be sent home, back to England.’

‘You want to go home?’ Haunui asked.

‘Yes,’ Kitty said emphatically. ‘I hate living with Uncle George and Aunt Sarah. And now Aunt Sarah hates
me.
’ She thought about the scandal that would still be a talking point in Dereham. ‘But I can’t go home. Maybe Mrs Williams will take me in.’

Haunui grunted. They waited until the rowboat was halfway out to the
Katipo,
then turned to walk back along the beach.

‘Oh no,’ Kitty gasped and pointed. Heading towards them along the sand, but still a distance away, came a phalanx of running figures.

‘My brother,’ Haunui said flatly. ‘And he is armed.’

The war party descended on them with frightening speed. Paralysed with fear, Kitty could see Tupehu at the fore of his men, all of whom were brandishing spears and taiaha. Even from this distance she could
hear his screams of rage. Then, spying the rowboat now almost alongside the
Katipo,
he stopped and hurled his spear out across the waves. It fell well short, but there was no mistaking the vicious sentiment behind it. Slowly, he turned his gaze back to her and let out a long, loud stream of invective in Maori.

Haunui snatched her hand and they were racing back the way they’d just come. Throwing himself at the first waka they came to, he began to push it across the sand and into the water.

‘Help me!’ he ordered as Kitty stood dumbly by.

She put her hands on the low prow and shoved, grunting as the vessel moved faster and its stern slid into the waves. When the waka was afloat, Haunui waded back to her, picked her up and dumped her in it. She landed on her side, her face jarring against the hull. Manoeuvring the waka to face the sea, he vaulted in and snatched up a paddle. He began to strike out for the
Katipo,
the huge muscles in his arms and chest straining and his teeth bared with the effort.

Behind them, on the beach, Tupehu ordered his men to hurl their spears. They did, but the waka was already moving out of range. It was only moments, however, before his men set about launching one of the bigger vessels.

Haunui paddled for his life. Kitty sat up, her hand clamped over her mouth, which had started bleeding again. They were slowly nearing the
Katipo,
but it seemed that Captain Farrell had already given the order to weigh anchor—the schooner’s stern was drifting lazily around and her sails were unfurling and snapping, filling with the sharp offshore breeze. They would never make it in time.

Looking over her shoulder, she saw that Tupehu’s men had floated their waka. Tupehu stood at the prow, still shouting and waving his fists, as his warriors sat down and prepared to paddle.

But nothing happened.

Haunui, who was also glancing back, was starting to laugh.

‘What?’ she said, not seeing anything funny at all.

‘No paddles!’ he said. ‘Stole a waka with no paddles!’ And, still hooting with laughter, he paddled even harder.

The
Katipo
had stopped drifting and was standing in, apparently waiting for them. Kitty could see Wai leaning over the ship’s rail, yelling, but couldn’t hear what she was saying. Behind her stood Captain Farrell. And then he pointed.

Kitty’s heart nearly stopped as she saw that Tupehu had launched another waka and was quickly gaining on them.

‘He’s coming!’ she shrieked at Haunui. ‘
He’s catching up!
’

Haunui doubled his efforts and Kitty could hear him grunting with every dip of the paddle. The waka picked up even more speed, and the distance between them and the
Katipo
began to narrow. As they came alongside, the schooner tacked and began to move off. A rope ladder dropped down, and Haunui reached out and grabbed the bottom of it.

He threw his paddle aside. ‘Up!’ he urged, and gave Kitty’s backside a good shove as she set her feet on the bottom rungs. She scampered up but, her boots tangling in her dress, stopped to lift her skirts and gather them under her arms, not caring what Haunui could see from beneath. She felt the ladder drop a little as he climbed on himself; looking down she saw their waka slowly drifting away, and knew that if she fell now she would surely drown.

At the top Rian leant out and dragged her up and over the rail. There was a thud as Haunui arrived beside her and collapsed on the deck, his breath tearing his throat.

‘That was cutting it a bit fine,’ Rian said.

Kitty struggled to her feet and squinted back towards the shore. Tupehu was still coming, and still yelling and gesticulating, but already the gap between him and the
Katipo
was increasing.

Rian bellowed, ‘All hands, clap on!’, sending his crew running in all directions. Soon they were skimming across the water before the wind, past Waitangi where small fires were beginning to glow in the encroaching dusk on Mr Busby’s lawn, past Kororareka on the opposite side of the harbour, around the point and between the heads, and then, finally, out into the wide, dark ocean.

K
itty thought she might be drowning: a sharp weight was pressing on her chest and she couldn’t get enough air. But, forcing her eyes open, she realised she’d already died and gone to Hell for her sins because, only inches from her own, was the face of the Devil—yellow slit eyes set in deepest black, and needle-sharp fangs bared in a vicious snarl wreathed in breath straight from Hades itself.

‘Oh, get off!’ she exclaimed and shoved the cat onto the floor. Boadicea took a swipe at Kitty on the way down, but missed.

Kitty sat up gingerly, her back and leg muscles complaining mightily. She pushed the blankets off and swung her legs over the side of the bunk bed that was set neatly into an alcove. Her boots sat side by side on the floor, which was odd because she couldn’t remember taking them off. As soon as she’d boarded, Captain Farrell had told both her and Wai to go to his cabin and stay there until it was properly dark, but she must have fallen asleep and not woken all night. Something malodorous assaulted her nose and she lifted an arm and sniffed her armpit. It was her, but that wasn’t really surprising after yesterday’s exertions. She rested her elbows on her knees and put her face in her hands.

What was she going to do? She couldn’t just run off to Sydney. It was different for Wai, who obviously could not expect any mercy from her father. But it was equally obvious that Tupehu held Kitty responsible for what had happened to his daughter, and would be claiming appropriate utu. Kitty knew that the extent of his shame, and his loss of mana and

political power because Wai’s marriage would not now go ahead, meant that this particular utu would have to be paid for with her life. It was so grossly unfair: this was Uncle George’s doing, so why hadn’t he borne the brunt of Tupehu’s rage? Then it occurred to her that her uncle would still have been at Mr Busby’s house, but that Tupehu would no doubt have found him by now. She tensed herself against the pang of anxiety she should feel over her uncle’s predicament, but there was nothing. She couldn’t even feel sorry for her aunt.

But she would have to go back. The idea of going to Sydney by herself, an unmarried woman of nineteen with no money, no real skills and no friends or family there, terrified her. She had no references or letters of introduction, either. Haunui could look after Wai, but she couldn’t expect him to take care of her as well. She could return to Norfolk, but would need to somehow earn the money to pay for her passage, and if she did go home would anything have changed? She would still be a source of shame to her mother—probably even more now, if news of what had happened at Paihia were to filter back there.

Or she could ask Captain Farrell to turn around and take her to one of the other Society mission stations, Thames or Tauranga, perhaps, where she could start again.

Almost lulled back to sleep by the rocking of the schooner beneath her, she shook her head to clear it and stood up, groaning as the overstrained muscles in her legs spasmed painfully. Plans for what she would do next were all very well, but first she had to relieve herself. Kneeling down, she looked under the bed for a chamber pot, but the space there was packed with coils of rope, other bits and pieces, and the cat. She knew there would be a privy somewhere on the schooner, but she was desperate now. Struck by sudden inspiration, she lifted a blue and white ewer out of a matching basin, hoisted her skirts and squatted over it, holding the sides of her drawers apart to avoid getting them wet. The pee went on forever, but she felt immensely better after it, although she didn’t know how the captain would feel about her piddling in the china he used for his ablutions. She climbed onto the bed and pushed open the small window above it, hoping she could empty the ewer outside, but saw deck below, not ocean.

She knew the cabin opened onto the communal mess-room, but the rumbling in her stomach told her it was well past breakfast time so the room would be empty now. Not bothering to put on her boots, she pulled the door open and stepped through, then came to a skidding halt on the smooth floorboards as she encountered seven faces staring at her. Four at the table she recognised—Rian, Haunui, Hawk and Wai—but the other three were strangers.

‘Good morning,’ Rian said, dipping a lump of bread into a bowl of what looked like porridge. ‘You’ll want to empty that over the side.’

‘Er, yes,’ Kitty said, and made a dash for the steep steps leading up to the deck. Around the schooner lay sparkling sea under a clear, bright sky and only a hint of land out to her left. She wasn’t sure but she thought it might be the Three Kings Islands they had passed on their way over from Australia, which meant they were rounding Cape Reinga, the northernmost tip of New Zealand. She leant on the port rail for a moment, the strong winds whipping her hair back from her temples, and watched the small waves formed by the schooner’s bow breaking out from the hull. Then she held out the ewer and emptied it over the side. A second later she spat in disgust as the contents blew back in her face.

Loud laughter made her spin on her heel. She gasped and took an involuntary step backwards. Standing six feet away was the biggest man she had ever seen, bigger even than Haunui. He was not only tall but also massively built, his arm and chest muscles bulging beneath his shirt and his vast thighs and calves stretching the fabric of his trousers. He was barefoot; probably, Kitty thought, because he couldn’t find boots to fit him. The most startling thing about him though was his colour: his skin was so black it gleamed almost blue. In his laughing face his teeth shone a stark white, contrasting with the slight yellowness of his eyeballs. Thick raised scars ran in three parallel lines from ear to nose on his cheeks, and his black hair was shorn so closely to his scalp that it was no more than stubble.

He bowed. ‘I beg your pardon, miss, but you should not throw anything unpleasant over the side when you are downwind. It is not wise. Or sanitary.’

Kitty blinked; his voice was as deep as his size suggested, but his English and fine elocution were not at all what she’d expected.

‘Er, clearly not,’ she agreed.

He bowed again. ‘My name is Gideon.’

‘It’s very nice to meet you, Gideon,’ Kitty said, holding out her hand, which he briefly engulfed in one of his own.

‘You are sailing with us to Sydney, I believe?’ he asked.

‘I’m not sure yet.’

Gideon looked puzzled, as though he couldn’t imagine where else she thought she might be going at the present time.

‘I will need to speak to Captain Farrell about it,’ Kitty explained.

‘I do not think we will be turning around,’ Gideon said plainly.

‘Oh,’ she said, and, not knowing what else to say, thrust the ewer into his hands and hurried off.

Back in the mess-room she saw that an extra place had been laid at the table. Several doors led off the communal area, presumably leading to the cabins where the rest of the crew slept. She sat down, feeling self-conscious now about her dishevelled state. A quick pat told her that her hair was falling out of yesterday’s chignon and that most of her pins had disappeared.

As if from nowhere a small man appeared at her elbow with a cast-iron pot wrapped in a heavy cloth wedged under his arm. He was not old but he looked very weathered, like a little monkey. His dark shoulder-length hair was tied back in a plait and his black eyes twinkled disconcertingly.

‘Porridge?’ he offered.

Starving, Kitty said, ‘Yes, please.’

The little man spooned a generous dollop of porridge into Kitty’s bowl, then moved a jug of fresh milk across the table so she could reach it. ‘Sucre,’ he said, pointing to a jar on her left.

‘Thank you,’ Kitty replied.

He smiled and Kitty was startled to see that at least three of his teeth were gold.

Rian said, ‘Meet Pierre, ship’s cook.’

‘Pierre is bayou Acadian,’ Hawk added.

Kitty nodded, not enlightened at all.

‘Louisiana,’ Rian explained as Pierre disappeared into the galley. He gestured with his spoon at the other three men at the table. ‘This is Ropata, who is Ngati Kahungungu, and these rogues are Mick and Sharkey.’

Kitty said ‘Good morning’, and got a grunt, a ‘Kia ora’ and a ‘Hello there’ in return.

Ropata had the hooked nose and slightly bulging eyes characteristic of East Coast Maoris, but he was a striking figure, proud and fierce-looking even without the addition of a facial moko. Mick, the one who had said hello, was obviously an Irishman, his black curls, heavy-lidded eyes and slow smile no doubt a trap to any number of women. Sharkey, on the other hand, was short of several teeth, and had a ragged scar that ran from his temple to his jaw, short red-brown hair that stuck straight up, and a thick gold hoop in each ear.

‘Why do they call you Sharkey?’ Kitty asked, trying to make conversation.

‘It’s me name. John Sharkey.’

‘Oh. And do you come from England?’

‘Newcastle,’ he said, scraping up the last of his porridge.

Only just, then, she thought; with his colouring and his terse demeanour he could easily be a Scotsman.

Rian said, ‘You’ll meet Gideon when he comes in.’

‘I already have,’ Kitty replied. She was beginning to feel distinctly uncomfortable in the midst of so many men—rather rough and ready ones, too, she felt—but she was determined not to show it. Thank God Wai was here; she wasn’t at all sure how she would feel if she were on her own. She looked across the table at her friend and smiled.

Wai smiled back. ‘Did you sleep well?’

‘Very. I must have gone off the minute I lay down.’

‘You did. I took your boots off.’

‘Was that you? Thank you. Did you sleep?’ Wai certainly didn’t look as though she had—her eyes were still puffy from yesterday’s crying and she looked very weary.

‘Hawk gave me a drink. Then I did.’

Poor little Wai, Kitty thought. How long had she been carrying her awful secret around with her, believing she couldn’t tell anyone and not knowing what to do?

‘Is everything all right?’ she asked, flicking a glance at Wai’s middle.

‘Yes,’ Wai replied despondently, suggesting that she’d hoped that the baby might have fallen out after yesterday’s racing around.

Kitty asked Haunui, ‘Have you said anything?’

‘Only to the captain,’ he said, reaching for more bread.

The crew looked on with interest.

‘Right, lads, away with you,’ Rian said. The four of them got up from the table and went out. ‘I’ll have to tell them,’ he said when they’d gone. ‘They’ll want to know why we’re hauling two women and a big ugly Maori all the way to Sydney.’

Not in the least offended, Haunui said, ‘It does not matter. Does it?’ he added, looking at Wai, who shook her head.

Kitty stared down at her congealing porridge, which no longer looked quite so appetising. She cleared her throat. ‘I need to talk to you about that, Captain.’

‘About what?’

‘I really don’t think I can go to Sydney,’ she declared, wincing slightly at the expression of dismay on Wai’s face.

Rian’s eyes narrowed. ‘Where do you propose you do go, then?’

‘Well,’ Kitty began, fiddling nervously with her spoon, ‘I thought you could turn around and take me back. Not to Paihia, perhaps, but to another mission station.’

‘No.’

Kitty looked up then. ‘I beg your pardon?’

‘No,’ Rian said again. ‘It’s out of the question.’

‘But I can’t go to Sydney! I have no money and no clothes, I’m unchaperoned and—’

‘You’re out of luck,’ Rian finished for her.

‘But why not!’

‘Because you’re in danger in New Zealand. Tupehu could kill you. And no matter where you are in New Zealand, Kitty, he’ll hunt you down. Do you not understand the concept of utu?’

Kitty bristled at his use of her Christian name without her permission. ‘Yes,
Rian,
I do understand it. But surely he’ll realise that none of this is my fault?’

‘Doesn’t matter,’ Rian said. ‘Your family is responsible.’

‘Then why can’t he kill Uncle George?’ Kitty cried. ‘He’s the one who couldn’t keep his hands to himself!’ She stopped, shocked at her own daring.

‘Not just hands,’ Haunui muttered darkly.

Rian said, ‘He probably has killed your uncle by now. But if he doesn’t consider that to be enough retribution, what then?’

Kitty had a dreadful thought. ‘What about Aunt Sarah? I have to make sure she’s safe.’

‘Why do you care?’ Wai said. ‘She told you to get out.’

Shaken by the callousness of the comment, Kitty was silent for a moment. Finally she said flatly, ‘I have to go back. I have to.’

Rian said, ‘I can’t allow it.’

Something happened to Kitty then. All the fright from yesterday came flooding back, bringing with it the homesickness that still beset her, the awful strain of living with Sarah and George, her memories of perfidious Hugh Alexander, and something in her snapped.

She leapt to her feet and screeched, ‘What do you mean
you
can’t allow it? You’re not my guardian!’

‘No, but I am captain of this schooner, and we’re going to Sydney whether you like it or not.’

‘Well, we’ll see about that!’ Kitty replied, and stamped off into Rian’s cabin.

‘Your porridge is getting cold,’ he said, but the door had already slammed shut.

She picked up her wet, ruined boots and flung them at the cabin wall.
Boadicea shot out from under the bed, almost giving Kitty a heart attack, and caromed around the cabin looking for a way out before finally leaping through the open window.

Kitty sat down and bit her lip to stop herself from crying. She felt more alone now than at any time since her father had died.

Then she had what struck her as the most excellent idea; she
could
pay her way on the
Katipo,
and at the same time show Rian Farrell that she wasn’t as silly and as useless as he so obviously believed her to be.

She opened the door cautiously to make sure Rian had gone, then called for Wai, who emerged from one of the smaller rooms.

‘Come in here,’ Kitty said, ‘I’ve had such a good idea.’

Wai sat down expectantly.