Amber (8 page)

‘All the best ladies do, you know.’

‘They do not!’

‘Yes they do, but it’s so subtly applied you’d never know.’

‘So why bother, then?’ Kitty retorted.

‘Because, applied artfully, cosmetics will always enhance the complexion. I’m only talking about a dusting of rice powder, a dab of lip balm and just a hint of rouge on the cheekbones.’

‘Well, as I’ve already got ruddy cheeks I won’t need rouge, will I?’ Kitty grumbled. ‘I do have some lip balm, though. But it’s a bit old. I think it’s gone rancid.’

So Enya ordered some cosmetics and a small case of castile-and-chamomile soap for Kitty’s hair. ‘How long will all that take to make up?’ she asked the pharmacist.

Mr Turvey looked at his pocket watch. ‘If you come back at four o’clock, I’ll have it ready by then. Will that suit you, Mrs Mason?’

‘Very well, thank you. Good day until then, Mr Turvey.’

Outside the shop, Kitty said, ‘How much is all that going to cost? Because I still have some shopping to do yet.’

‘Oh, don’t worry, I’ll pay for it,’ Enya replied blithely. ‘As part of your wedding gift. And for your birthday.’

Kitty felt embarrassed by her sister-in-law’s largesse. ‘But you’ve already given me a beautiful gown.’

‘Yes, and a beautiful gown deserves a beautiful complexion, don’t you think?’

Kitty walked on in silence for a moment, then suddenly stopped. ‘Enya, am I really looking that rough?’ Then another, far worse, suspicion hit her. ‘Do you think Rian might lose interest in me if I start to look old and weather-beaten? Is that it?’

Enya looked aghast. ‘No, not at all! You look wonderful, Kitty, you always have. And I know my brother. He loves you very much and I don’t think a few wrinkles or a bit of windburn would make an ounce of difference to him, I really don’t.’ She frowned, and touched Kitty’s hand. ‘I’m sorry if I’ve offended you. I certainly didn’t mean to. Rian always said I can be a little
too blunt at times, which is quite hypocritical coming from him, don’t you think?’

Kitty smiled, because Enya was right. Then she said, ‘But
do
I look awful? Why do I need all of those preparations?’

‘I don’t think you
need
them, Kitty, I thought you might
like
them. You spend most of your time in the company of sailors, and, let’s face it, as fond of them as I am, they’re not the most urbane of men, are they? I just thought you might like to pamper yourself now and then, treat yourself like the beautiful woman you are. You might like to enjoy being
feminine
, I suppose is what I’m trying to say.’

Kitty was absurdly touched. Enya was right, she did sometimes miss the things that most women of her age enjoyed—wearing pretty gowns and dressing her hair and what have you—but she simply didn’t have the time, especially when they were at sea. And she could hardly go shinnying up the ratlines in a tea gown with her hair elaborately coiffed and decorated with fresh flowers. The crew would laugh themselves silly. And the fact remained that, because she had spent first a year with the missionary women of Paihia, for whom personal appearance wasn’t a priority, then the next four on board the
Katipo
, she’d never really had the opportunity to learn the art of enhancing her femininity.

She gave her sister-in-law a quick kiss on the cheek. ‘Thank you, Enya, I appreciate it, I really do.’

They went into David Jones’s after that, and spent a very satisfying hour making more purchases: the store was quite small, but Mr Jones stocked something for everyone and hours could be whiled away just looking at everything he had for sale.

In particular, Kitty wanted gifts for the people with whom she had lived in Paihia, assuming that they were still there, of course. For Marianne Williams, the wife of Reverend Henry Williams, she bought an ornately decorated case for
holding spectacles; for her friend Rebecca Purcell, wife of a lay missionary, she found a lovely quilted sewing box; and for Jannah Tait, whose husband was also a lay missionary, she bought a beautiful recipe book, which she hoped wouldn’t be misinterpreted. She had never particularly liked Jannah, but she had respected her. And for her widowed Aunt Sarah—who certainly
must
be calling herself a widow by now, as to Kitty’s knowledge there had not been a single piece of news regarding George’s whereabouts since the day he had disappeared—she purchased a gorgeous bonnet in navy silk with black grosgrain ribbons and black feathers. She still wasn’t sure if she had forgiven her aunt, but she thought it better to go prepared for a reconciliation. If there wasn’t one, then she would simply keep the bonnet for herself.

She also bought gifts for two men—Simon Bullock, another lay missionary serving at Waimate Mission, and Haunui. If, again, Simon was still there. It had once been assumed—even hoped by some—that Kitty would marry Simon Bullock. Neither had thought it a particularly good idea, for various reasons, but they had become firm friends and Simon had been very fond of Wai. For Haunui, Kitty purchased a very smart top hat in black silk, in the largest size she could find, as a sly reference to the straw sunhat he had once stolen from her; and for Simon she found a lovely cream linen shirt, in the hope that he might wear it instead of his usual motley garments.

It was half past three when both women decided they were desperate for a drink and went into a coffee house. Kitty wilted onto a chair at the closest table, and sat fanning her face with her hand. Her chemise beneath her corset was stuck to her torso, and she suspected there were large wet patches under her arms.

‘Yes, it
is
very warm, isn’t it?’ Enya agreed, untying the ribbons on her bonnet and pushing strands of damp hair back from her forehead.

Kitty surreptitiously blew down the front of her dress. ‘It’s nearly as bad as the Dutch East Indies, but not quite.’

‘I’ve never been there,’ Enya said. ‘Is it nice?’

‘I’m not sure I’d call it nice, but it’s certainly interesting.’

A girl approached to take their orders, and Kitty waited until she had gone before she continued.

‘Enya?’

‘Mmm?’

‘Will you tell me about Rian’s first wife?’

Enya looked at her. ‘Has he never said much?’

‘Not really. He told me before we were wed that he’d been married before, and that his wife had fallen overboard with their baby, and that he’d lost them both. It must have been absolutely awful for him.’

‘It was. He was inconsolable. He blamed himself, of course.’

‘Because she fell overboard? How could that have been Rian’s fault?’

‘She didn’t fall.’ Enya sat back. ‘Meagan was pretty and sweet and I believe Rian did love her, but she was never a strong girl, Kitty, not like you. She was quite fragile, and when I met her I thought Rian had made a mistake.’ She shook her head. ‘No, I knew he had. He left her in Dublin while he was at sea, but she pined for him and, frankly, made such a fuss that he finally gave in and took her with him. She became pregnant and after she had the baby she developed a mania. You’ve heard how some women can be afflicted like that after childbirth?’

‘Yes.’

‘Rian had convinced her to see a physician at their next port of call, but he was too late. She threw herself and the baby overboard one night and they both drowned.’

Kitty felt sick. ‘Oh, my poor love,’ she whispered.

Enya said, ‘Yes, it was a terrible shock. Rian believed it was his fault because he’d allowed her to sail with him, but it wasn’t.
No one could have foreseen that.’ She paused. ‘And I didn’t know Meagan well enough to realise she had the type of character that might be prone to hysteria. If I had, I think I would have done everything I could to stop her sailing with him. But I’d been transported by then, anyway.’

‘Losing your wife would be bad enough but, oh God, to lose a child would be so much worse,’ Kitty said.

Enya nodded. Then she said, ‘Kitty, pardon me if I’m being too personal, but have you thought much about a family?’

‘Having babies?’

‘Yes. You’ve been married for over three years now, and some people might say it’s time to start considering it.’

‘Well, they can say what they like,’ Kitty replied shortly, ‘but I’m not altogether sure it’s going to happen.’ And she told Enya about her suspicions about her ability, or lack thereof, to successfully conceive.

But instead of the sympathy Kitty was expecting, Enya appeared relieved.

‘Well, that is sad,’ she said. ‘But I really think it might be for the best.’

Kitty leaned back as the serving girl returned with their refreshments and set them on the table. When she’d gone, she asked, ‘Why do you say that?’

‘Because I don’t think Rian could bear to sail with a child on board again, after what happened with Meagan. Have you talked to him about having children?’

Kitty stirred her coffee. ‘Not really. He doesn’t seem to want to discuss it.’

‘But you understand why, now?’

‘Well, yes, I
understand
it, but—’

‘And knowing my brother as well as I do,’ Enya interrupted, ‘I suspect that if a child were to come along, Rian would feel he would have to leave you, and it, ashore. And that would break his
heart as much as losing the pair of you altogether.’ She looked beseechingly at Kitty. ‘So, if you want babies, please think very hard about how it might affect your marriage. I know it’s none of my business, but that’s my advice to you. I love my brother and I’m very fond of you, Kitty. I’d hate anything to come between you.’

Kitty thought for a moment, then something else occurred to her. ‘Is what happened with Meagan the reason Rian didn’t want women on board the
Katipo
?’

‘Yes, he swore he would never allow it again. You must have meant a lot to him already by then, for him to have let you on board.’

Remembering the mad, terrifying dash to get away from an enraged Tupehu and out to the
Katipo
before she sailed away, Kitty said, ‘He didn’t have a lot of choice, really.’

‘Oh, I think he did, Kitty. He could have put you down anywhere.’

‘I asked him to, but he said nowhere in New Zealand would be safe.’

‘See? He didn’t want to be parted from you even then.’

And Kitty smiled, because she suddenly saw that it was true.

Eight days after they had arrived in Sydney, the
Katipo
had been reloaded with an assortment of goods for trade in New Zealand: crates of soap, bales of shirts, duck trousers and blankets, sheet lead, dozens of bottles of turpentine and lin seed oil, nails, window glass, white lead and green paint, a range of iron gardening implements and—at Kitty’s request because she could clearly recall the women of Paihia bemoaning the fact that they couldn’t get nice fabric—a dozen bolts of quality assorted dress materials.

Now they were all aboard, waiting for the tide to turn so
the
Katipo
could be towed out into the harbour and set sail. Everything was shipshape and Wai’s box had been stowed in the hold, inside a larger trunk packed with straw. They expected the trip to take a brisk eleven or twelve days, as the tail wind was likely to favour them at this time of year.

They lounged on deck, fanning sweaty faces and feeling sorry for Pierre who was in the galley preparing supper. Finally, the tugmaster came alongside and signalled that he was ready to tow them away from the dock and out into deeper water where they would be able to pick up the sea breeze and fill their sails.

Kitty watched as the dock slowly receded, the solid buildings along the cove’s shoreline shrinking to the size of a child’s toys as she leaned on the rail. Then, as the sun went down behind the upper reaches of The Rocks, the sunset turned the soil and rock of Sydney even redder, and for thirty minutes or so the whole harbour looked aflame, even the sea. She wondered when they would return to Sydney again. Quite soon, possibly, given that the unfortunate Mr Kinghazel had been despatched and they no longer had to concern themselves with any ideas of revenge he might have been harbouring.

By the time the crew sat down to Pierre’s supper in the mess-room, the
Katipo
was passing between Dawes Point and Bennelong Point in the mouth of the harbour, and was about to move out into the dark rising swell of the Pacific Ocean. They would sail directly across the Tasman Sea, heading for Wellington to make the most of the trade winds, then through Cook Strait and up the East Coast of the North Island until they reached the Bay of Islands. As they ate, the ocean became progressively more choppy, and Kitty decided that after supper she would go down into the hold to make sure that the trunk in which Wai’s remains had been packed was well secured. It would be unthinkable if the trunk toppled over.

It was truly dark by the time she lifted the hatch to the hold
and, being careful not to spill any oil from her lamp, she made her way down the steep ladder, Bodie bouncing lightly down behind her. Kitty was pleased she had changed into a pair of trousers; the ladder was difficult enough to negotiate as it was, without layers of skirts hampering her.

At the foot of the ladder she paused and waited until her eyes had become accustomed to the semi-darkness. It was odd, she reflected, how the darkness of a night sky was always crisp and sharp, while the blackness contained within walls seemed to be much more palpable, and somehow thicker.

When she could see she moved forward, threading her way through bales and crates and barrels until she reached Wai’s trunk. Setting the lamp carefully on a box, she bent down and checked that the ropes lashing the trunk to the deck were secure. She patted the lid of the trunk fondly.

‘You’ll soon be home,’ she whispered. ‘Back with your people and your father and your baby, I promise.’

She stood for a moment, thinking about everything that had happened since she had last talked to her friend, then turned to retrieve the lamp. But as she did, the
Katipo
rolled mightily and she fell against the box, knocking the lamp over. It shattered, spilling a puddle of burning oil onto the deck. Kitty squeaked and scrambled out of the way, wildly looking around for something with which to douse the small fire.