Maori

by Alan Dean Foster

  “I can’t believe what I’m hearing. Me go hat in hand to Rose Hull? I thought after all these years that you knew me better than that, Elias.”

  “You wouldn’t be going begging, sir. You’d be going with a proposition that could benefit the entire colony. You’ve said yourself that we’ll all survive this or drown together.”

  Coffin took a deep breath, glanced back at Vogel. “You think I’m stubborn, don’t you, young man?”

  “That remains to be seen, sir.”

  “If you think I’m stubborn, you should meet this woman. Yes, come to think of it, you should. I’ll meet with her, but only if you come along. And you too, Elias.”

  “Oh now, sir, I don’t think.…”

  “I do think. It’s about time. If she will agree to meet with us.”

  “I think she will, sir. Difficult times make for strange bedfellows.”

  4

  When word got out that Robert Coffin was to meet with the daughter of his old enemy it had an unforeseen effect on the rest of the business community. Instead of jeering or whispering snide remarks, most asked, nay, demanded to be allowed to participate lest they find themselves excluded from some grand proposition. Coffin would not have thought it possible, but so unnerved and suspicious were his colleagues and competitors that they could even suspect collusion between himself and Rose Hull.

  So Vogel had to change his plans and ready himself to present his proposal not only to the head of Hull House but to Wallingford and Rushton and McQuade and Lechesney and all the rest.

  Since no women were allowed in the hallowed sanctuary that was the Club and since its members would not bend that policy even for the sake of the colony’s future, a room was found in the back of Auckland’s largest bank for the meeting to take place. Vogel repeated his entire presentation as energetically and enthusiastically as he had in Goldman’s office.

  Having heard it all previously, Coffin was able to concentrate instead on the reactions of his counterparts. It was amusing to see the astonishment and anger young Vogel’s suggestions provoked. Rushton departed early, regarding those who remained with contempt while insisting he would not be a party to fiscal suicide. Nor would he allow his name to become a joke in the boardrooms of the Bank of England, where their outrageous proposals would surely be laughed out of existence.

  But the others stayed, and listened.

  Vogel was sweating when he finally concluded his presentation. As Coffin expected, it was Wallingford who commented first.

  “Are we to understand, Coffin, that you and Miss Hull agreed with this young man’s radical notions?”

  Rose Hull nodded once. “That is correct, sir.”

  Wallingford shook his head and dabbed foppishly at his forehead with a hankerchief of Belgian lace. “It all sounds rather backward to me. I am not sure Rushton isn’t right.”

  “What do we have to lose?” Coffin said quickly. “Our dignity? We’ve no credit now. Applying for ten times what we haven’t got can’t make things any worse.” He looked around the table.

  “That is so, Coffin. However most of us still possess hard assets of a sort.” Murmurs of agreement filled the room. “If we were by some miracle to obtain this new credit and if we failed to repay any new loans, it would be the final ruin of us all. As it now stands each of us could salvage something more than just our self respect.”

  “Salvage what?” Coffin growled. “Defeat? Salvage and move to New South Wales to live out the rest of your lives on a pension? What kind of victory is that?”

  “Victory enough for some,” Wallingford argued.

  “Some like Rushton.” Coffin turned in surprise to Rose Hull. So did most of the others.

  She was aware they listened to her opinion grudgingly if at all, barely tolerating her presence among them. They did so because they had no choice. In this, place she could not be expelled by reason of her sex, if for no other reason than that she was one of the majority stockholders in the bank where they had gathered.

  “We have gambled everything so far. Why not gamble one more time? Double or nothing, I believe it is called?”

  Lechesney managed a smile. “Miss Hull, few of us can call upon the kind of reserves available to you. You are asking us to look for money in our socks.”

  “It’s my money too,” she said primly. “And if we fail, you men can enter into new partnerships elsewhere, begin anew. I will be a destitute and single woman.”

  “True enough!” Vogel gazed fearlessly around the room. “Are there only two real men in all New Zealand? Robert Coffin—and Rose Hull?”

  “You impertinent young bastard!” Jason Merrill rose from his chair and started around the table. “I ought to cut your tongue out for that!”

  Coffin interposed himself between Vogel and the much larger Merrill. “Easy, Jason. This isn’t a council of war and we don’t do duels these days.”

  Merrill subsided, staring past Coffin. “All right. I’ll respond to reason, but I won’t be insulted into risking what’s left of my holdings. Certainly not be some damn Jew.”

  Vogel stiffened. For the first time his perpetual smile and good humor was replaced by something else. But he responded coolly and without anger.

  “Perhaps you have forgotten, Mr. Merrill, that less than two years have passed since the Prime Minister of England was a Jew.”

  “Yes, but for how long?” Merrill reluctantly returned to his seat, glanced around toe table. “What was it? A few months?” Some snickers came from his supporters and friends.

  “Mark my words,” Vogel told them, “Disraeli will be Prime Minister again some day. Gladstone can’t dominate Parliament for very long.”

  “You think not?” Merrill snapped.

  “If you don’t mind, gentlemen, it’s not the politics of the old country that concerns us here today.” Wallingford sniffed delicately. “I care not who advises the Queen so long as the colony survives.” Merrill looked toward him and Wallingford simply turned away as though the other man was not present. “We are agreed, then, that we have much to gain and little, significant as it may be to us individually, to lose by requesting a substantial loan?”

  “We can’t request it,” said Coffin. “No one will loan money to our respective enterprises if they believe the colony stands on the brink of collapse. Not even to Coffin House.” He glanced over at Vogel. “Under such circumstances God himself couldn’t pry money out of the Bank of England. It will have to be a government request.”

  “Never happen, never.” Lechesney was adamant.

  “The Governor will agree.”

  “Perhaps, but the Governor has no power in these matters. You know mat as well as the rest of us, Coffin. He cannot request money like that on his own authority.”

  It was true, Coffin knew. The way the colony’s government was presently structured it was the provincial councils that would have to make the formal request for additional new money. Such a request would expose them to ridicule if it failed, and to political defeat at the hands of their constituents.

  “Then we’ll put it to the councils individually. As you’ve seen, Mr. Vogel here can be damn persuasive. I for one intend to support him fully in this. Who else is with myself and Hull House?”

  Wallingford heaved an ursine sigh. “As you say, Miss Hull, double or nothing.”

  “I’m in,” mumbled an obviously unhappy Chesterton from the far end of the table.

  “And I … I also.…”

  Enough agreed, though it was by no means unanimous. Merrill dissented vociferously and Rushton had long since abandoned them. Even they might come around later, Coffin reflected, when they’d had time to pause and think.

  As the meeting was breaking up Poole Van Kamp, the old Dutchman with extensive land holdings in the south who’d come up by ship specifically for this gathering, walked over to shake Vogel’s hand. He tilted his head forward to peer at their brash would-be savior over the tops of his bifocals.

  “I don’t mind telling you, young
man, I don’t much like you. Personally I find you brash, offensive, and insulting. But I’ll go along with your ideas because I don’t see anybody promoting any better ones, and if you succeed I’ll support you wholeheartedly in anything you choose to do in the future. Actually I think what you propose is ridiculous and probably unworkable. But if it’s good enough for Robert Coffin and Rose Hull, then it’s good enough for the rest of us to get behind it.”

  “All I ask for is your trust, Mr. Van Kamp.” Vogel returned the man’s handshake firmly. “I don’t ask that you like me, though I hope with time to change that as well.”

  “We’ll see about that.” Van Kamp turned and headed for the door.

  The private, relatively quiet gathering at the bank was a picnic compared to Vogel’s presentations before the various provincial councils. The young economist tried his best, but in the spacious council halls the intimacy of his delivery was lost. He was outshouted if not outargued.

  They were in New Plymouth. Coffin had gone along to lend his support. Two straight hours of shouts and accusations, counterproposals and imprecations had left him frustrated and tired. With the debate raging behind him he walked outside in search of a momentary respite.

  He was not the only one who’d temporarily abandoned the fight for a little peace and quiet. Rose Hull was seated at the end of a bench not far away. Her attire was decorous, even attractive, and so was she. He looked left and right down the long hall outside the council chamber. It was empty except for the two of them.

  As he approached she looked up at him. For the first time he was conscious of how closely she resembled her father. He tried to remember what her mother, Flora Hull, had looked like, but that took him back too many years.

  Good God, he suddenly realized. How we’ve all aged.

  She wasn’t what he would have called “pretty.” Not horsey either. Handsome, and tall. Much too tall. She was reading a book and though she saw him coming she didn’t move to close it. Since he’d approached her, it was incumbent on him to initiate any conversation.

  He nodded toward the book. “Interesting?”

  She glanced up again and smiled politely. “Very strange. It’s Frankenstein, by Shelley.”

  “That’s a poem I don’t know. I don’t have much time to read for pleasure.”

  “A shame. It’s not a poem, it’s a novel. And it’s not by Percy but by his wife, Mary.” She set the page ribbon and closed the slim volume, nodded past him. “How is it going in there?”

  Coffin glanced back in the direction of the doors that led to the council chamber. “Not too well, I’m afraid. This is what happens when you don’t have a strong central government. The Americans seemed to manage it better when they put their thirteen provinces together in a union.”

  “Mr. Vogel hasn’t been able to convince them?”

  “I don’t think that’s the problem. Everyone seems willing to authorize him to seek the money. What they’re all fighting about is who gets what chunk of it if he succeeds. The Otago council wants to build the southern railway first, but the Wellington people are more concerned with a proper north—south roadway on North Island. In New Plymouth they want money to expand the harbor.” He shrugged.

  “It’s been like this everywhere. Everybody thinks Vogel’s plans are fine, as long as they get to decide where the money goes. So they’re all afraid to authorize him to seek the loan until they know where it’s going.”

  “I see.” She was nodding. “Everyone’s afraid the province next to them will obtain the greater share.”

  “That’s about it. Julius is a convincer, but he’s no peacemaker.”

  “Then there’s only one way to stop all this in-fighting,” she said firmly. “We must go to the Governor and have Julius appointed Treasurer. That way he’ll be the one to decide how any money’s to be apportioned.”

  Coffin was startled. “I don’t know about that. He hasn’t been here that long and there are other considerations. Political ones.”

  “Are you referring to the fact that Mr. Vogel is not of the Christian faith?”

  “There’s that,” he admitted.

  “It won’t matter. As Treasurer Julius could distribute the money to the provinces as he saw fit, without government interference. Since he is seeking this loan in the colony’s name and not in that of individual provinces he should have the authority to spend it accordingly.”

  Coffin jerked his head in the direction of the council chamber. “They won’t like this idea, you know. They’ll fight it.”

  “Then we must take care they don’t hear about it until it’s a fait accompli.”

  “A what?” He frowned at her.

  “Until the appointment has been made,” she explained with the slightest of smiles. Putting her book into her purse she rose and extended an elbow. “If you would care to accompany me, Mr. Coffin, I suggest we make our way to the Governor’s office while the provincials continue screaming at one another. It may be that they will continue talking so loud they will fail to hear that which is truly important.”

  Coffin eyed the proferred arm. Thirty years he’d spent fighting everything Hull House stood for, hating the man who’d founded it. But what, after all, had it stood for except competition? Tobias Hull wasn’t here now. He lay in a plain grave on the east coast after giving his life trying to save Coffin’s only son. If Hull could do that, couldn’t Coffin do somewhat less?

  He slipped his arm through the crooked elbow. Rose Hull smiled up at him.

  “There now, isn’t this better than making faces at one another across a table?”

  “I don’t know. It doesn’t feel right and I’ll have to think about it. But while I’m thinking, there’s no reason for us not to join forces to try and save this country.”

  “Well said, Mr. Coffin. Provided we do save the country.”

  He eyed her sharply as they started down the hall. “I thought you believed in what Vogel’s doing?”

  “I do not believe, but I see no alternative. We have to do something to try and pull the colony out of this awful depression. As someone who grew up hoarding pennies in order to have any money at all I frankly confess I find this business of borrowing still more money than we can possibly pay back not only risky but frightening. Yet in risky and frightening times are not such measures called for? I think so.”

  “Then we agree on that, at least.”

  They left the building and Coffin called for a carriage.

  “And your wife,” she inquired casually, “how is she?”

  For a moment there was a slight crack in the hardened merchant’s veneer she had adopted. Coffin hadn’t expected the question but he had no difficulty responding since it was one commonly asked of him.

  “The doctors tell me she is improving, but very slowly. There is still a chance she may emerge from the long depression into which she’s fallen.”

  “I’m glad to hear that. May she and New Zealand emerge from their depression together.”

  “I hope so.” Coffin hoped he sounded more enthusiastic than he felt.

  5

  Rose Hull’s ploy worked. The Governor saw the sense of it and Julius Vogel was appointed Treasurer before anyone in the provinces had time to object. To prevent outraged and disgruntled provincials from forcing his removal before he had a chance to act, it was decided that their new Treasurer should be sent on his way to England as quickly as possible.

  Coffin stood next to the much smaller man on the wharf as the noise and confusion of the harbor boiled around them.

  “We’ll be anxiously awaiting your, return, Julius.”

  “A long journey. Halfway around the world.” Vogel was blinking at the bright sunlight bouncing off the water. “I don’t much care for the sea myself but it has to be done this way.”

  “You’d better come back with good news,” Coffin advised him. “If you don’t I can’t say what might happen.”

  “Never fear.” Vogel drew himself up confidently. “As you know, I can be
most convincing.”

  “I know, but the directors of the Bank of England aren’t the members of Auckland council.”

  “Thank heavens for that.” Both men chuckled.

  What Coffin didn’t say was how he longed to go with him. How he wished he could forget the responsibilities of running Coffin House to feel once more the heavy roll of a ship under his feet. He knew he couldn’t do that even though he could trust the daily operations of the business to Elias Goldman. Couldn’t because there was still Holly to look after, Holly who actually and astonishingly was improving. And there was the other house, at Tarawera, with Merita and the boy.

  So he could only shake hands a last time with the energetic little economist and watch while he boarded his ship, knowing that his chances of success were slim at best. If Vogel failed utterly they would never know the details of it. That much had been plain in the other man’s face. Julius Vogel would succeed, or he’d never show himself in the South Pacific again.

  There was no reason to linger. As he turned to walk back to his carriage he was surprised to see the other carriage from the house drawn up nearby. A face was staring out at him from the window. Still dressed in black, but now the veil had been pulled aside. The pale visage that looked back at him was almost familiar.

  “Holly!” He lengthened his stride until he was standing close to her.

  “I heard you’d come to see Mr. Vogel off.”

  “That’s right.” He gestured. “That’s his ship. What do you know about Julius Vogel?”

  “Just because I don’t go out much, Robert, doesn’t mean I’m completely ignorant of everything that goes on. When one doesn’t talk much there is ample opportunity to listen to others, and church is full of chatter after services.”

  “Yes, of course, but.…”

  Her hand reached through the window, the glove cool on his skin. “Let’s go for a ride, Robert.”