Song of the Spirits (In the Land of the Long White Cloud saga)

by Lark, Sarah

  Kura pushed the swing door open and entered Madame Clarisse’s establishment. Everything was as tidy and clean as she had expected, the tables scrubbed, the floor swept—and off to the side, a red-haired girl was sitting at the piano.

  Kura did not believe her eyes. She froze, but the pianist seemed already to have noticed her.

  Elaine turned. She blinked, as though hoping to drive away an illusion. But the girl standing before her in a worn-out red traveling outfit was Kura, without a doubt. A little slimmer perhaps, somewhat paler—her face no longer as haughty but more determined and harder. But her skin tone remained flawless, her hair glossy, and her eyes as captivating as ever. Her voice, too, was as finely modulated as always.

  “You?” Kura asked, her eyes widening in surprise. “I thought you were married somewhere in Otago?”

  “And I thought you were living happily ever after with William on Kiward Station!”

  Elaine was determined not to let Kura browbeat her. Her first impulse had once more been to act small and humbled, but then she felt her long-suppressed anger rising within her, against Kura, the cousin who had so casually destroyed her life.

  “What do you want, Kura Warden? Or rather, Kura Martyn? Let me guess. You don’t like it over at the Wild Rover. First you took my lover, and now you want my job!”

  Elaine glared at her.

  Kura rolled her eyes.

  “You’ve always been too sentimental, Lainie,” she said, sneering. “And a little too possessive. ‘My lover,’ ‘my job.’ And yet William never belonged to you. And this job here…” Kura let her gaze pass derisively over the furnishings of the Lucky Horse. “Well, it’s not exactly the most prestigious post in the British Empire, wouldn’t you say?”

  Elaine did not know how to reply. She felt only a surge of instinctual rage, and for the first time since that awful morning on Lionel Station, she wished she had a weapon. Although this was the moment she most needed her confidence, she instead found herself begging—and she hated herself for it.

  “Kura, I need this job! You can sing anywhere.”

  Kura smiled. “But maybe I want to sing here,” she answered. “And the wife of Thomas Sideblossom certainly doesn’t need a job in a whorehouse.”

  Elaine balled her fists helplessly. But then she heard a sound on the stairs. Charlene was on her way downstairs and must have caught those last words.

  Elaine’s blazing fury turned into ice-cold terror. The wife of Thomas Sideblossom. If Charlene had heard those words and told Madame Clarisse…

  Charlene, however, only looked Kura up and down, using the steps to full advantage. The buxom, dark-haired harlot assessed the potential competition mercilessly and without shame.

  “Who’s this, Lainie?” she asked nonchalantly, without deigning to greet the newcomer. “The replacement for Chrissie Hamilton? I’m sorry, dear, but Madame Clarisse is looking for a blonde. We have enough black-haired girls. Unless you can do something special.” Charlene licked her lips.

  Kura flared up at her. “I’m a singer,” she said, incensed. “I don’t need to—”

  “Aha, the Maori girl who bangs away on the piano at Holloway’s.” Charlene rolled her eyes. “That is, of course, the springboard for international success. You know how to pick your jobs, sweetness, I’ll give you that. You clearly have excellent taste.”

  Kura had regained her composure. She had never been shy, and in Roderick’s ensemble she had learned to make herself heard. Especially among women.

  “I’d be happy to play for you if you have any say in what happens around here,” she said. “I fear, however, that you’re just another whore.”

  Charlene shrugged. “And you’re just another piano player. Sure, we might be better than average, but the customer’ll only notice in bed. In my case anyways; he won’t notice at all in yours. For the boys here, one set of ivories is as good as another. So don’t get melodramatic. Scoot off to your dream job now. Madame Clarisse won’t have anything to do with girls who make scenes as soon as they step through the door.”

  Kura turned around, her head raised regally. “I’ll be seeing you, Elaine,” she said.

  Just then Charlene flew down the remaining stairs with lightning speed, flitted past her, and blocked Kura from walking out the door. Her gaze was cold with anger, her fingers bent into claws.

  “Her name is Lainie,” she said calmly. “Lainie Keefer. She isn’t anyone’s wife, never was. So don’t be spreading lies, and we won’t talk about you, either. Because you’re running from something too, same as all of us, lovely. And if I want to, I’ll rat out what it is you’re running from. Besides,” Charlene extended her claws, “beauty isn’t everlasting.”

  Kura glared at her. But she fled and gave up any thought of ever speaking to the madam of the Lucky Horse again. She had never met a girl like Charlene before, but she had heard the dancers talk about them. Girls who fixed their dance shoes so they would slip and fall. Girls who scratched their rival’s face, slept with their partners, and convinced the boys to drop them during dangerous routines. And Charlene was not the only one. Madame Clarisse’s whole brothel might be filled with aggressive filth defending their position. And Elaine’s.

  Elaine burst into tears as soon as Kura had left.

  “I didn’t want to… I wanted to throw her out straightaway or rip her hair out. But it was all so sudden, and she…”

  “She’s an ice-cold beast,” Charlene declared, taking her friend in her arms. “But don’t worry. Whoever you were married to and whatever your real name is, I won’t tell a soul. And you can be sure that little goat won’t either. I scared her. Besides, Madame Clarisse couldn’t care less. She likes you. And I like you. And the customers like you, and Tim likes you.”

  Charlene rocked the convulsively sobbing Elaine in her arms like a child. She had felt the girl relaxing at first and then how she tensed up the moment Charlene mentioned Timothy Lambert’s name. Charlene sighed. If only she had known earlier that there was history between Elaine and this Maori girl. Though this Kura was certainly not pure Maori—one of her parents must have been white. Those eyes alone! And unless Charlene was completely mistaken, she shared some vague similarities with Elaine. Charlene considered whether she should ask right now or whether it was better to wait until Elaine had calmed down. That might take some time. Though the girl was no longer crying, she still seemed preoccupied. She claimed that she wanted to practice for her Easter performance at the church, but she sat motionless at the piano, staring into space. Charlene brought her some hot tea, followed by a proper whiskey.

  “Here, you look like a ghost. Drink that. That Tim of yours will be coming later and then you can horse around. Speaking of which, that was sweet yesterday, flirting about being horses in the next life. Now give us a laugh, Lainie.”

  Elaine drank, but she did not think she would find anything to laugh about that day. Timothy Lambert was going to the Wild Rover that night, and he would stay there. As would Matt Gawain. Once they saw Kura, the men would forget Elaine and Charlene at once. She asked herself vaguely why that bothered her. After all, she should be glad to be rid of Timothy—hadn’t she complained often enough about his being too persistent?

  Just as she was supposed to, Elaine started to play when the customers began to arrive. But she played mechanically and distractedly, and the men appeared to notice. That evening, there were hardly any drinks for Elaine and no music requests. Elaine only vaguely registered the fact, but it hardly surprised her. After all, Kura-maro-tini was playing a few houses down the street. Why would people want to listen to her?

  Elaine’s face was pale and indifferent. She seemed to be looking through the piano and the pub’s wall—into other worlds and other times. Closing time approached agonizingly slowly. All Elaine wanted to do was disappear into her little room, bury herself under the blankets with Callie in her arms, and put the day behind her. The next day she would have to make plans. Maybe another town, another pub. But no other Timothy
Lambert.

  “Good evening, Lainie,” Timothy’s cheerful voice pulled her out of her lethargy.

  Elaine broke off from the piece she had been playing and turned around in disbelief. “Good evening, Timothy.”

  Her voice sounded flat.

  Timothy Lambert looked at her inquisitively. “Is something wrong, Lainie?”

  Elaine shook her head. “It’s only… It’s nothing,” she said decisively, and she began to play again. She felt the color returning to her cheeks, and her heart beat wildly. Then she remembered that Timothy had to stop by the Lucky Horse one way or another. After all, he had promised to inform Madame Clarisse. Elaine hoped to catch a few words of what he said to her, but Friday evenings were very loud in the pub. Madame Clarisse betrayed her curiosity by immediately indicating a table to Timothy and Matt and bringing them a bottle of whiskey. A bottle of the good stuff.

  “I’m sorry that took so long,” Timothy said to Madame Clarisse, sniffing the expensive drink with pleasant surprise. “But we ran into Caleb Biller and, naturally, used the opportunity to sound him out about his dad’s mine.” They must have drunk some whiskey while they did so as they appeared less than fully sober.

  “Yeah, old man Biller is having all of his air shafts renovated,” Matt reported. “They had a gas leak a little while back, and Biller’s been scared stiff ever since. Little Caleb was whining about how he had to oversee the whole project.”

  “Whereas we’d be thrilled to oversee something like that if my old man could only bring himself to do the same.” Timothy looked despondently into his glass.

  Madame Clarisse rolled her eyes. “Boys, did I send you two down to the Rover because I’m so desperate to know about Biller’s air shafts? No! So, what about the girl? The little piano player?”

  Elaine slumped down. She wondered how much Charlene had told their boss about Kura’s afternoon appearance. It was unlikely that she had kept the whole thing to herself.

  Timothy shrugged. “She’s pretty,” he reported.

  Matt turned his eyes to the ceiling. “Only someone who’s seriously in love could put it that way. Madame Clarisse, the girl is beautiful. When she was born, all the evil fairies must have been out of the room. She’s a dream.”

  Madame Clarisse frowned, and Charlene, who was just then prancing toward the table, glared at him.

  “As far as I know,” she remarked sarcastically, “most men prefer women made of flesh and blood.”

  Matt grinned at her. He was obviously enjoying her jealousy.

  “Oh, she knows flesh all right, Charlene. When you hear her sing, there’s passion there. A volcano beneath a gentle exterior.”

  “Gentle?” Charlene asked. “Sometimes I wish men weren’t so easily fooled.”

  “Then you wouldn’t make as much,” Madame Clarisse said, laughing. “But go on, boys, what’s all the fuss about? Didn’t you boys flirt with her a bit? Who is she and where is she from?”

  “Now, now, Madame Clarisse, you wouldn’t want us seducing the little thing.” Matt was enjoying himself royally. “What kind of language is that anyway? Tim and I would never flirt with a strange woman.”

  “Besides, we would have had to get past Caleb Biller first,” Timothy added. “Which wouldn’t be hard. But if he’s taken an interest in a girl…”

  The men laughed, as did those at the next table. The men who came to Madame Clarisse’s were predominantly from the Lambert and Blackburn mines. There was a long-standing competition between them and Biller’s men that never erupted into open fighting but led to teasing on both sides. The effeminate Caleb Biller was a favorite target.

  “She’s from the Canterbury area. Though she had not explicitly told Caleb as much, he had inferred it from her history.” Timothy coolly told them all he knew about Kura; clearly he had not only sounded Caleb out about his father’s mine. “She traveled around with an opera ensemble for a while. South Island, North Island, even Australia. But she didn’t want to go with them to England afterward. Or they didn’t want to take her. That seems more likely to me. She’s been on the move ever since—a tough customer. Caleb is convinced her life is grand, but even if she doesn’t complain, you only need to look at where she washed up. The Wild Rover is about the bottom of the barrel. Though she does sing and play really well. She finished by playing together with Caleb. He’s not bad either. He plays piano a good deal better than he rides, that’s for sure—not to mention mining.”

  Elaine stopped listening. Of course he was impressed with Kura. And she had gone on to sing opera, even though everyone had doubted she was good enough. But these English musicians had not taken her with them. She could always use that as ammunition if Kura came back this way. She had to learn to fight back! She had to be strong, more like Charlene, who did not seem to make much of Matt’s swooning over Kura. Elaine breathed a sigh of relief when the evening came to an end.

  That Saturday night was as busy as ever in the pub, and Elaine sat at the piano in her prettiest dress, playing one request after another. She forced herself to be more cheerful—and even smiled when the door opened around nine and Timothy Lambert entered.

  It had been raining all day, and he had left his raincoat and sou’wester in the stables. After only the short walk from the stables, the clothes he was wearing were completely soaked through. Timothy laughed and shook himself off like a dog before sauntering over to Elaine. Elaine had to admit he looked handsome, despite his wet hair and the raindrops on his eyelashes, which slowly dripped off by way of his laugh lines. He finally rubbed the water from his face with his shirtsleeve. He seemed carefree, young, and alive.

  “Good evening, Lainie.”

  She nodded at him and felt at once as though a load had been lifted from her. “Good evening, Timothy. Is there something I can play for you?”

  Timothy smiled. “You know what I want to hear, Lainie. Conjure up for me again those seven years that John Riley had to wait for his love.”

  Elaine frowned. “Wasn’t John Riley the one who made his love wait?”

  Timothy grinned. “Now there’s something for you to think about,” he said with mock seriousness. “But excuse me for a moment. I have to speak with Matt tonight before he drowns himself in whiskey. He’s got reason enough. As do I.”

  Elaine looked at him inquisitively. “Is there something wrong at the mine?”

  Timothy nodded. “My father once again shot down Matt’s proposal to widen the air shafts. We only have one new one, and it works well, but if there is ever a gas leak, it’s much too narrow. And if Caleb Biller can be trusted, we’re running an acute risk. Darn it, old man Biller is just as greedy as my father. If he’s spending money on safety measures…” Timothy looked seriously concerned.

  “Aren’t there those gas masks?” Elaine asked. She had heard of them before and even seen drawings of them in a magazine. The men wearing these protective masks looked like giant, ugly insects.

  Timothy was clearly delighted by her interest. “We don’t have those either, Lainie. Besides, they wouldn’t help much. With gas leaks, the real danger is explosions. It’s usually just methane gas, which isn’t poisonous, but it’s flammable and catches fire quickly. You can only be halfway sure to prevent it by reducing the amount of coal dust in the mine, by sprinkling water for example and securing the air circulation. And we don’t do either of those things sufficiently well.”

  Elaine looked at him with concern. “But you don’t go underground that often yourself, do you?”

  Timothy beamed. “You’ve just salvaged my day, Lainie. You’re worried about me. That will keep me going for hours.”

  With those words, he left her and was soon involved in an animated discussion with Matt Gawain. His foreman was close to tendering his resignation. Marvin Lambert had made Matt look ridiculous in front of his men, declaring that improving safety would only be possible by lowering their hourly pay. The miners had to decide if they were hungry or cowardly. Naturally, no one had voted to sacrifice their
pay.

  Timothy returned to Elaine later, to toast while she gave another great rendition of “John Riley.” As the evening had worn on, she had regained her confidence. As far as she could tell, no one had switched from the Lucky Horse to the Wild Rover, and hardly anyone was still talking about the singer in the next pub over. Perhaps it would not do any harm to ask Timothy a few questions. Elaine made an effort to be diplomatic, but her tone sounded provocative.

  “Did you request ‘John Riley’ last night too?” she inquired.

  “Last night?” Timothy pretended he had to think about what had been so special about the day before. But then he winked mischievously. “Oh, you mean at the Wild Rover. This evening’s just getting better and better. First you’re worried about me, and now you’re jealous.”

  Elaine chewed on her upper lip. “No, seriously,” she blurted out. “Didn’t you think… the girl was beautiful?”

  Timothy looked at her curiously when he heard the insistence in her voice. The delicate, translucent skin on her face flushed, then turned pale, then flushed again. Her lips trembled slightly, and her eyes flickered.

  Timothy wanted to wrap his arm around her shoulders and lay his hand on hers, but he sensed her instinctive reluctance, and he touched the edge of the piano instead.

  “Lainie,” he said softly, “Of course she’s beautiful, and she sings beautifully too. Any man who isn’t blind and deaf could tell that. But you’re much more beautiful and play much more touchingly, and for that reason, I would never let another girl play ‘John Riley’ for me.”

  “But, I’m not as pretty as she. I…” Elaine turned away. If only she had not asked.

  “You’re prettier to me,” Timothy said seriously. “You have to believe that. I want to marry you, after all. That means I’ll still think you’re pretty when you’re seventy years old, gray-haired, and wrinkled.”