by Sarah Lark
Helen shook her head. She had set out from the Greenwoods’ home in a cab alone. The rocking chair, her only cumbersome piece of luggage, had been picked up the day before.
“I’m traveling to meet my husband in Christchurch,” she explained, as if that would explain the absence of her loved ones. But she didn’t want under any circumstances to be pitied by this rich and obviously privileged young woman.
“Oh? Then is your family already in New Zealand?” Gwyneira asked excitedly. “You must tell me about it sometime; that is, I’ve never been…but now I really must be going. I’ll see you tomorrow, children. Don’t get seasick! Come, Cleo.” Gwyneira turned to go, but little Dorothy stopped her, tugging bashfully on her skirt.
“Miss, pardon me, miss, but your dress is dirty. Your mother is going to yell.”
Gwyneira laughed, but then looked down at herself, concerned. “You’re right. She’ll have a fit! I’m impossible. I can’t even behave during good-byes.”
“I can brush it off for you, miss. I know velvet.” Dorothy looked solicitously up at Gwyneira, then motioned her to the chair in the cabin.
Gwyneira sat down. “Where did you learn that, little one?” she asked, surprised, as Dorothy went to work skillfully with Helen’s clothes brush; apparently, the girl had observed earlier when Helen had laid her things in the tiny wardrobe that was part of each berth.
Helen sighed. When she’d bought that expensive brush, she had not planned for it to be used for the removal of muck.
“We get clothing donations all the time at the orphanage. But we don’t keep them; the clothes are sold. Before that, though, we have to clean them of course, and I always help with that. Look, miss, it’s all pretty again.” Dorothy smiled shyly.
Gwyneira hunted in her pockets for a gold piece with which to reward the girl, but didn’t find anything. The outfit was too new.
“I’ll bring you all a thank-you gift tomorrow; I promise!” she told Dorothy as she turned to go. “And you’ll make a good housewife someday. Or a maid to very fine people. I’ll be seeing you!” Gwyneira waved to Helen and the girls and ran lightly up the plank.
“She doesn’t even believe that herself,” Daphne stated, spitting behind her. “People like that always make promises, but then you never see them again. You always have to see that they pay up right away, Dot. Otherwise, you’ll never get anything.”
Helen lifted her eyes to heaven. What was that about “select, well-behaved girls, raised to serve meekly”? She needed to clamp down on them.
“Daphne, you will clean that up immediately! Lady Silkham doesn’t owe you a thing. Dorothy offered to be of service. That was politeness, not business. And young ladies do not spit.” Helen looked for a cleaning bucket.
“But we’re not ladies!” Laurie and Mary snickered.
Helen glared at them. “By the time we get to New Zealand, you will be,” she promised. “At the very least, you will behave like you are.”
She decided to get their education under way that very moment.
Gwyneira heaved a sigh of relief when the last gangways between the dock and the Dublin were hauled in. The hours of good-byes had been exhausting; her mother’s tears alone had soaked through three handkerchiefs. Added to that were her sisters’ wailing and her father’s composed but funereal manner, better suited to a hanging than a wedding. Finally, there was her brother, whose obvious envy got on her nerves. He would have traded his inheritance in Wales for such an adventure. Gwyn suppressed a hysterical giggle. What a shame John Henry couldn’t marry Lucas.
Now, however, the Dublin was finally ready to embark on its journey. A rustling as loud as a squall let it be known that the sails were set. The ship still had to clear the Channel and sail for the Atlantic this evening. Gwyneira would have liked to be with her horse, but naturally, that wouldn’t have been proper. So she remained dutifully on deck and waved down to her family with her largest scarf until the shore had almost disappeared from view. Gerald Warden noticed that she did not shed any tears.
Helen’s charges wept bitterly, though, the atmosphere in steerage being more fraught than among the rich travelers. For the poorer immigrants, the trip almost certainly meant a permanent farewell; in addition, most of them were sailing into a much less certain future than Gwyneira and her traveling companions above deck. Helen felt in her bag for Howard’s letters while she consoled the girls. At least someone was expecting them…
She nevertheless slept poorly the first night on board. The sheep were not yet dry, and the stench of manure and wet wool continued drifting into Helen’s sensitive nose. It was an eternity before the children fell asleep, and even then they would start at every noise. When Rosie crept into Helen’s bed for the third time, she no longer had the heart or the energy to turn her out. Laurie and Mary clung to each other too, and the next morning Helen found Dorothy and Elizabeth snuggled up against each other in a corner of Dorothy’s berth. Only Daphne had slept soundly; if she was dreaming, they must have been good dreams because the girl was smiling in her sleep when Helen finally woke her up.
The first morning at sea proved unexpectedly calm. Robert Greenwood had warned Helen that the first few weeks might be stormy since there were mostly rough seas between the English Channel and the Bay of Biscay. That day, though, the weather extended the émigrés’ grace period. The sun was pale after the rain the day before, and the sea shimmered a steely gray in the wan light. The Dublin moved sedately across the smooth surface of the water.
“I don’t see the shore at all anymore,” Dorothy whispered, afraid. “If we sink now, no one will find us! Then we’ll all drown!”
“You would have drowned if the ship had sunk in the harbor in London,” Daphne observed. “You can’t swim, you know, and you would have long since drowned before they finished rescuing everyone from the upper deck.”
“You can’t swim either,” Dorothy retorted. “You would be just as drowned as me.”
Daphne laughed. “I would not! I fell into the Thames once when I was little but doggy-paddled out. Scum floats on the surface, my old man said.”
Helen decided to interrupt the conversation for more than simple pedagogical reasons.
“Your father said, Daphne,” she corrected. “Even if he did not quite express himself in such a genteel manner. Now stop scaring the others or they won’t have any appetite for breakfast. Which we can go get now. So, who’s going to the galley? Dorothy and Elizabeth? Very good. Laurie and Mary will take care of the water for washing…oh, that’s right, my ladies, we will wash up. Even when traveling, a lady insists on cleanliness.”
When Gwyneira walked through steerage an hour later to check on her horses, she came upon a strange sight. The corridor outside the cabins was almost empty, most of the passengers being occupied either with breakfast or homesickness. However, Helen and her girls had brought out their table and chair. Helen sat enthroned, proud and upright, every ounce a lady. In front of her, on the table, was an improvised place setting, consisting of a tin plate, a bent spoon, a fork, and a dull knife. Dorothy was in the midst of presenting Helen with imaginary serving platters of food while Elizabeth handled an old bottle as though she were graciously serving a fine wine.
“What are you doing?” Gwyneira asked, dumbfounded.
Dorothy curtsied carefully. “We’re practicing what to do when serving at table, Lady Silk…Silk…”
“Gwyneira Silkham. But you may call me miss. And, could you tell me again now—you’re practicing what?” Gwyneira eyed Helen suspiciously. Yesterday the young governess had seemed completely normal, but perhaps she was a little odd.
Helen blushed slightly under Gwyneira’s gaze, but composed herself quickly.
“This morning I discovered that the girls’ table manners leave something to be desired,” she said. “In the orphanage, they must have approached meals as though they were caged carnivores. The children eat with their fingers and stuff themselves full as if it were their last meal on earth!”
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br /> Ashamed, Dorothy and Elizabeth stared at the ground. The reproach had less of an effect on Daphne.
“Perhaps they wouldn’t have gotten anything to eat otherwise,” Gwyneira speculated. “When I see how thin the girls are…but what is that supposed to be?” Once again she pointed to the table. Helen corrected the placement of the knife.
“I’m showing the girls how a lady carries herself at table and in the process teaching them how to serve skillfully,” she replied. “I don’t think it likely that they’ll be taken in by larger households where they would specialize in being a lady’s maid, a cook, or a cleaning maid. The personnel situation in New Zealand is supposed to be extremely bad. So I am going to give the children as comprehensive an education as I can on the way over so that they can be useful to their employers in as many different capacities as possible.”
Helen gave Elizabeth a friendly nod; the girl had just poured water into her coffee cup with perfect form, catching any spilled drops with her napkin.
Gwyneira remained skeptical. “Useful?” she asked. “These children? I wanted to ask yesterday why they were being sent overseas, but now it’s becoming clear to me…am I right in guessing that the orphanage wanted to get rid of them, but no one in London wanted little half-starved serving girls?”
Helen nodded. “They’re pinching pennies. Housing, feeding, clothing, and sending a child to school costs three pounds a year in the orphanage. This passage costs four, but then the children are gone for good. Otherwise, they would have to keep Rosemary and the twins on at least two more years.”
“But the half-price fare is only for children twelve and under,” Gwyneira objected, which astonished Helen. Had this rich girl really inquired about steerage prices? “And the girls could only first take a position at thirteen.”
Helen rolled her eyes. “In practice, at twelve, though I’d swear that Rosie cannot be more than eight. But you are right: Dorothy and Daphne should really have had to pay full price. However, the honorable ladies of the orphanage committee probably made them out to be somewhat younger for the journey.”
“And we’ll have hardly arrived when the little ones age miraculously in order to take positions as thirteen-year-olds!” Gwyneira laughed and searched through the pockets of her white housedress, over which she’d thrown a light shawl. “The world is no good. Here, girls, have something proper to munch on. It’s nice to play at serving, but you won’t put any meat on your bones that way. Here you go!”
The young woman happily pulled out muffins and sweet rolls by the handful. The girls forgot their newly acquired table manners for a moment and pounced on the treats.
Helen attempted to restore order and distribute the sweets properly. Gwyneira beamed.
“That was a good idea, wasn’t it?” she asked Helen, as the six children sat on the side of a lifeboat, taking small bites as they had been taught and not sticking the whole things in their mouths at once. “On the upper deck they serve food as though it were the Grand Hotel, and I couldn’t help thinking of your scrawny little mice. So I polished off the table a bit. I wasn’t out of line, was I?”
Helen shook her head. “They won’t put on any weight from the offerings down here. The portions are not generous, and we have to get the food from the galley ourselves. So the older girls siphon off half of it on the way—and that’s ignoring the few naughty rascals that belong to the midship immigrant families. They’re still too shaken, but watch out—in two or three days they’ll start ambushing the girls and demanding tribute to pass! But we’ll survive these few weeks. And I’m doing my best to teach the children something. That’s more than anyone’s done for them until now.”
While the children were eating and playing with Cleo, the young women chatted and strolled back and forth on deck. Gwyneira wanted to know as much as possible about her new acquaintance. Eventually, Helen told her about her family and her position at the Greenwoods’.
“So then you haven’t lived in New Zealand before?” Gwyn asked, a little disappointed. “Didn’t you say yesterday that your husband is waiting for you there?”
Helen blushed. “Well…my husband to be. I…you’ll certainly think it absurd, but I’m crossing the sea to marry over there. A man whom thus far I know only from letters…” Ashamed, she lowered her eyes. She only ever became fully conscious of the monstrousness of her adventure when she told other people about it.
“You’re doing the same thing I am,” Gwyneira said breezily. “And mine hasn’t even ever written me.”
“You too?” Helen marveled. “You’re also answering an unknown man’s marriage advertisement?”
Gwyneira shrugged. “Oh, he’s not really unknown. His name is Lucas Warden, and his father asked for my hand on his behalf.” She bit her lip. “In a mostly conventional manner,” she amended. “From that perspective, everything is in order. But as for Lucas…I hope he at least wants to marry. His father didn’t tell me whether he’d asked beforehand or not.”
Helen laughed, but Gwyneira was serious. She had learned over the past few weeks that Gerald Warden was a man who asked few questions. The sheep baron made his decisions quickly and on his own, and he could react gruffly to others’ opinions. That was how he had succeeded in accomplishing so much work during his weeks in Europe. From purchasing sheep to negotiating agreements with wool importers to discussing matters with architects and well construction specialists—even wooing a wife for his son—he managed everything coolly and with breathtaking speed. Gwyneira liked his decisive approach, but sometimes it scared her a little. When it came to commitments, he had an explosive streak, and he sometimes demonstrated a wiliness in business transactions that Terence Silkham disliked. As he saw it, the New Zealander had bamboozled the stallion’s breeder using every trick in the book—and whether the card game for Gwyneira’s hand had been honestly played remained in question. Gwyneira sometimes wondered what Lucas thought of it all. Was he as energetic as his father? Was he running the farm at that moment just as efficiently and without compromise? Or did Gerald’s occasionally overly hasty dealing aim at shortening Lucas’s solo rule of Kiward Station as much as possible?
In any event, she now told Helen a slightly tempered version of Gerald’s business relationship with her family, which had ultimately led to her wooing. “I know that I’m marrying into a flourishing farm of close to a thousand acres and a fold of five thousand sheep that should continue to grow,” she concluded. “I know that my father-in-law maintains social and business ties to the best families in New Zealand. He is obviously rich; otherwise, he couldn’t afford this journey and the whole lot. But I know nothing about my future spouse.”
Helen listened attentively, but it was hard for her to feel sorry for Gwyneira. In fact, Helen was painfully aware that her new friend was markedly better informed about her future than she was. Howard had said nothing about the size of his farm, his animal count, or his social contacts. As for his financial circumstances, she knew only that, though he was debt free, he could not afford larger expenditures like a trip to Europe—even in steerage—without due consideration. Still, he wrote such beautiful letters. Blushing once again, Helen rustled the letters, already worn from repeated reading, out of her pocket and thrust them at Gwyneira, both women having sat down on the edge of the lifeboat in the meantime. Gwyneira read greedily.
“Yeeeeah, he can write…” she said with restraint, folding the letters back together.
“Do you think there’s something strange about them?” Helen inquired anxiously. “Do you not like the letters?”
Gwyneira shrugged. “I don’t have to like them. If you want my honest opinion, I find them a bit bombastic. But…”
“But?” Helen pressed.
“Well, what I find strange is…I would never have thought a farmer could write such lovely letters.” Gwyneira turned away. She found the letters more than just strange. Naturally, Howard O’Keefe might be well educated. Her own father was also both a gentleman and a farmer; in provincia
l England and Wales that wasn’t uncommon. But even with all his schooling, her father would never have used such turgid formulations as this Howard did. Moreover, among the nobility, especially when it came to marriage negotiations, people usually put all their cards on the table. Future partners had a right to know what to expect, and Gwyneira couldn’t find any indications of Howard’s business situation. She also found it strange that he didn’t ask for a dowry or at least expressly reject one.
Now, of course, the man had not counted on Helen rushing to his arms on the next ship. Maybe this flattery only served to break the ice. But she nevertheless found it unnerving.
“He is really very passionate,” Helen said, taking up her fiancé’s defense. “He writes just like I dreamed he would.” She smiled happily, lost in her thoughts.
Gwyneira smiled back. “Then all’s well,” she declared, resolving, however, to ask her future father-in-law about Howard O’Keefe at the next opportunity. He bred sheep too, after all. It was likely the men knew each other.
She did not get to ask right away, though, because the meals that usually created the perfect circumstances for such pressing inquiries were often canceled due to rough seas. The first day’s lovely weather proved deceptive. They had hardly reached the Atlantic when the wind whipped around and the Dublin fought its way through storms and rain. Many of the passengers became seasick and opted to pass on meals or simply take them in their cabins. True, neither Gerald Warden nor Gwyneira had sensitive stomachs, but when no official dinner was prepared, they usually ate at different times. Gwyneira did so intentionally; after all, her future father-in-law certainly would not have consented to her ordering large quantities of food only to let Helen’s charges have them. Gwyneira would have liked to supply all the other steerage passengers with food. The children in particular needed every bite they could get just to keep themselves halfway warm. Yes, it was the middle of summer and it was not particularly cold outside, even with the rain. But when the seas were rough, water seeped into the steerage cabins, and everything became so damp as a result that there was hardly a dry place to sit. Helen and the girls shivered in their clammy dresses, but Helen nevertheless insisted on continuing with her charges’ daily lessons. The other children on the ship were not getting any schooling during this time. The ship doctor who was responsible for their lessons was himself sick and self-medicated with plenty of gin from the ship pharmacy.
