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

by Lark, Sarah

  Though Timothy was in pain due to Fellow’s fast pace, he slackened the reins when he saw that his horse was trying to keep time with the coach. Matt saw Timothy’s contorted face and slowed his bay’s step.

  “Looking ahead, you should buy a horse with gentler movements,” he commented. “You’ll need to buy a new one in Europe anyway.”

  Timothy shrugged. “Explain that to Lainie. She insists we take our horses. She’s like her grandmother Gwyneira in that way, she says. A new country, fine, but only with her horse and dog. I have no idea how I’m supposed to afford that.”

  “It sounds like her family has money,” Matt said, letting his horse amble. He was in no hurry and was dry where he was sitting. Timothy, however, looked as freezing and uncomfortable.

  “But will they spend that money to send the daughter they’ve finally found again overseas?” Timothy had his doubts. “Before we go, she still wants to go to Queenstown and the Canterbury Plains to say her good-byes to her whole family.”

  “I don’t think that Lainie of yours wants to leave New Zealand at all,” Matt said. In fact, he was sure of it, but thought that maybe Timothy needed to hear it more gently.

  Timothy sighed. “I know,” he muttered. “But what am I supposed to do? I don’t have any future in my profession here. And what else can I do? Ruben O’Keefe offered to have me go into business with him. They’re opening a new branch in Westport soon. That’s where they all are today, looking at space to lease. But I’m not a salesman, Matt. I have no gift for it, and, to be honest, not the least interest.”

  “But Lainie…” Matt had heard about the offer through Charlene and was trying to raise a delicate issue cautiously.

  Timothy waved it away. “Yes, yes, I know. Lainie’s helped out in her father’s store since she was little. She could manage the business while I build birdhouses—if I’m lucky.”

  “Which reminds me of Florence and Caleb Biller,” Matt remarked.

  Timothy nodded. “With the slight difference being that Caleb enjoys that sort of life. He actually prefers researching Maori culture to busying himself with rocks. And he’ll end up making money from it too. In fact, he is already. William and Kura have been rather generously splitting the profits from their concerts with him. I, however…” Timothy shrugged. “Besides, I’m not the kind that would adjust easily to living off his wife’s inheritance or his father-in-law’s largesse.”

  “What about something else? Outside of mining or being a salesman?” Matt goaded his horse as it was getting late.

  “I’ve thought about rail construction,” Timothy said. In fact, he had been doing nothing but mulling over possible occupations for weeks. “Julian Redcliff in Blenheim dropped a few hints. But, I can’t delude myself, Matt. There aren’t even any fixed offices in the railroad business. When you’re inspecting sites, you travel around, sleeping in tents or whatever shelter you can find. It’s wet and cold. I wouldn’t make it.”

  Timothy lowered his head, defeated. He had never said it out loud, nor would he ever complain about how much the first winter after the accident had afflicted him. But, as Dr. Leroy had brutally made clear to him, he would not get any better. Only worse.

  “Wales isn’t exactly known for its warm, dry climate either,” noted Matt.

  Timothy bit his lip. “It doesn’t have to be Wales or England. There are mines in Southern Europe too…”

  Mines just waiting for someone who got around on crutches and didn’t speak the local language. Though neither one said it aloud, the men shared the same bitter thought.

  They had reached town by this time, and Matt stopped his team in front of the train station. The train had already arrived, and Timothy saw a tall, somewhat older but slender and exquisitely dressed gentleman descend the steps. The investor, presumably.

  “I guess I’ll invite the man to come with me,” sighed Matt. “And in doing so, likely usher in my own fall. I have no doubt he’ll put a university student in my place, and I’ll soon be back to swallowing coal dust as a foreman again.”

  Matt had effectively been running the mine for the last few months. Although Marvin Lambert was in the office almost every day, he impeded decisions more than he made them.

  “Will I see you at the pub later?” he asked.

  Timothy shook his head. “Probably not. I’ll be at dinner in town, but it’s a family dinner at one of the nicest hotels on the quay. Ruben O’Keefe is paying. They’re expecting some uncle out of Canterbury, so probably a sheep baron of some kind.” Timothy sounded indifferent. He couldn’t help but dread the prospect of more family arriving to try to keep Elaine on the South Island.

  Matt waved at him. “Then enjoy yourself! And wish me luck. I’ll let you know tomorrow how it went.”

  Timothy watched his friend go, casually jumping over a barrier to reach the platform more quickly. Matt spoke to the older gentleman politely and then took his bag with a smile. At least the young foreman would have the chance to convince Marvin’s new investor of his expertise during the tour of the mine. Timothy really did wish him luck. But he envied him even more.

  Elaine looked lovely as she greeted Timothy in front of the hotel. She was wearing her dark-blue dress and stroking the horse that her father had ridden over and that now stood next to Banshee. It was a family reunion for the animals, too. It turned out that the black horse was Banshee’s foal that Elaine had left behind in Queenstown after she had gotten married. Timothy hoped she did not want to take him overseas now too.

  Timothy had asked Roly drive him that evening. His ride that morning had been as much as he could handle. In order to work off his impotent rage, he had stretched it out more than two hours. Besides, he was wearing his evening clothes. This uncle of hers was some sort of important personality, and Elaine had hinted that there was something to celebrate. “They didn’t tell me what it was, but Uncle George telegraphed my father yesterday and he was very happy after that and spoke to the hotel about this dinner. There’ll be champagne!”

  Although Elaine was clearly excited about the evening, Timothy’s enthusiasm was limited. He was beginning to fear meeting new people rather than looking forward to it. Too often they seemed embarrassed just by the fact of being introducing to him. They desperately sought topics of conversation that didn’t touch on any taboo subjects and were visibly uncomfortable standing or walking around in Timothy’s presence. If things kept up like this, he would become a hermit.

  Timothy put a determined smile on his face and took Elaine in his arms. She was joyful and frolicsome and greeted him at once with a detailed description of the new store in Westport. Apparently, the location was ideal, right in the middle of town. And the town itself was lively and attractive and at least as big as Greymouth. Elaine could obviously imagine living there and running the store, and Timothy was all but ready to resign himself to it. Selling housewares and clothes couldn’t be all that bad.

  The two crossed the hotel foyer, Timothy forcing himself with some effort to remain polite when a porter scurried around him as though he would happily have carried him to a room for a tip. He could not let himself be so sensitive as to think of every walk in public as some kind of gauntlet. Nevertheless, Timothy was relieved to discover that the table for Ruben O’Keefe and his guests was not located in the hotel’s luxurious main dining room but in a no less elegantly decorated side room. Elaine’s father, her brother Stephen, and the heralded Uncle George were already standing with drinks in their hands at the window, which boasted a view of the quay and a choppy sea.

  All three of the men were looking outside and only turned to Timothy and Elaine when they came closer. Timothy greeted Ruben and Stephen before looking with surprise into the inquisitive brown eyes of the man Matt had picked up from the train station that morning. Elaine greeted him before Timothy, however, and the man she called her uncle embraced her. The older gentleman hugged her firmly before she pulled away, laughing.

  “So we finally have you back, Lainie,” he said. �
��My compliments, child. I never would have thought someone could hide from me on this island.”

  Lainie smiled, embarrassed, and took the glass of champagne that her father offered her.

  Timothy used the break to finally reach out his hand to “Uncle George,” who introduced himself with a firm handshake and self-assured gaze. “George Greenwood,” he said. He didn’t even seem to notice Timothy’s crutches and leg splints.

  “Didn’t I see you at the train station this morning?” he asked before Timothy could even give his name. “You were there with that Mr. Gawain who showed me around the Lambert Mine.”

  “And? Did you like it?” Timothy blurted out. He became aware of his faux pas at once. “Forgive me. I should introduce myself first. Timothy Lambert.”

  “Elaine’s fiancé,” Ruben noted, smiling. “Supposedly the right one, finally. Mr. Greenwood has news about the divorce, Tim. Good news!”

  Elaine looked as though she were perishing to hear the news, whereas Timothy could think about nothing except the mine. How had Matt presented himself? And his father? How were the negotiations going, and might they already have come to some agreement?

  “Lambert?” asked George, sizing up Timothy with a probing look. “Any relation to the mining Lamberts?”

  Timothy nodded. “The son,” he said with resignation.

  George furrowed his brow. “But that can’t be.”

  Timothy flared up at him. Suddenly all his pent-up anger and frustration surged inside him, and he could not restrain himself.

  “Mr. Greenwood, I have my problems, but I can provide accurate information regarding my parentage.”

  George did not look angry. He smiled.

  “No one is questioning that, Mr. Lambert. I’m only a bit surprised. Here…” He reached for a few papers that he had carelessly thrown on the table earlier, “It’s the information in the prospectus, but read for yourself.”

  Timothy reached for the files and skimmed the section on the subject of “heirs.”

  Marvin Lambert’s only son is sickly and in all likelihood will never be able to manage the company. The desire of the family to quickly liquidate at least a portion of the mine can be understood by the need to ensure the invalid’s income in perpetuity…

  Timothy went pale.

  “I’m sorry, Mr. Lambert,” George said. “But after this report, I would have thought that the son in question was more likely in a sanitarium in Switzerland than on a horse at the train station in Greymouth.”

  Timothy took a deep breath. He would need to calm down if he was going to make it through this evening.

  “Forgive me, Mr. Greenwood, but I had no idea. To whom do I owe this depiction of my health? My father or Mr. Weber?”

  “You know of Mr. Weber’s involvement?” George Greenwood asked.

  “Word is all over town,” Timothy replied. “And Florence Biller, Mr. Weber’s daughter, would no doubt be thrilled to consolidate the management of the Biller and Lambert mines. That would give her two mines.” He turned away. “Perhaps I should have taken Kura’s advice.”

  “Kura’s advice?” Elaine asked jealously.

  “A bad joke,” Timothy said wearily.

  “And why is it exactly that you don’t want to manage the mine?” George asked. “Interested in something else altogether? Ruben said you might take over the business in Westport.”

  Timothy bristled. “Sir, I’m a mining engineer. I have diplomas from two European universities and practical experience in mines in six countries. It’s not a question of not wanting to. But my father and I are of differing opinions on a few important matters concerning the management of the mine.”

  George’s alert gaze wandered over Timothy’s body.

  “Is your condition a result of these… differing opinions? You can speak frankly; I know about the explosion in the mine and its largely obscured causes. And also about two men, including one from management, who went into the mine immediately following the accident. One of them is dead.”

  “As far as my father is concerned, the other one is too,” Timothy said hoarsely.

  Elaine interrupted. “Will you finally tell us something about the divorce, Uncle George?” She had been horsing around with her brother and was entirely unaware of the serious turn that the conversation between Timothy and her uncle had just taken. “You two can talk about the mine afterward. Besides, I’m hungry.”

  Timothy was not hungry. He looked George Greenwood in the eye.

  “We’ll talk about it at greater length tomorrow,” George said. “Tête-à-tête. Come to my suite at nine and bring along your diplomas. Though I think we’ll come to an agreement very quickly. After all, I just bought sixty percent of your mine’s shares, Mr. Lambert. I get to decide who’s dead.”

  George Greenwood took his time with the news of the divorce. Only when the first course had been placed in front of him did he finally begin answering Elaine’s persistent questions.

  “Thomas Sideblossom will agree to the divorce,” he finally declared. “One of our attorneys spoke with John’s widow. She’s staying at Lionel Station at the moment but will return to Blenheim and speak with him as soon as she has settled matters in Otago.”

  “She can talk all she wants,” Elaine said doubtfully, “but what makes her think Thomas will listen to her?”

  “Oh, according to Mrs. Sideblossom, the divorce is in his own interest,” George said, smiling benignly. “As soon as it’s finalized, he plans to marry his former stepmother.”

  “What?” Elaine exclaimed with such force that she choked on her crayfish cocktail and began to cough. When she finally regained her composure, there was panic in her eyes.

  “She can’t do that,” she whispered. “Zoé, I mean. She…”

  “I asked her twice myself if she was sure,” George confessed, “before the connections made sense to me.”

  “Oh?” asked Stephen, surprised, playing with the food in his glass. He did not like seafood and was trying to remove the crayfish tails inconspicuously from the other components of the appetizer. “But it’s obvious. The lady really doesn’t have any choice.” Stephen made a crayfish tail disappear under the table, where Callie greedily seized it.

  “But Thomas is… He’s awful. I have to warn her,” stammered Elaine, laying her silverware down as though she intended to leap up and leave right then to contact Zoé Sideblossom.

  “Thomas is in an asylum for the mentally deranged,” Timothy reminded her gently, laying his hand on hers. “He can’t hurt anyone anymore.”

  “Precisely,” Stephen continued calmly, “but he remains the heir of Lionel Station. And the way I figure it, this John Sideblossom fellow never made a detailed testament stating that his wife was to be provided with a certain bequest in the event of his death. In which case, she’s more or less penniless right now. She could perhaps continue to live on Lionel Station, but even in that regard, Elaine could make things difficult for her.”

  “Me?” Elaine asked, taken aback. She seemed to have regained some of her strength.

  “Of course you,” her father said. “As his wife, you still constitute Thomas’s next of kin. You have the power of disposal over his goods, and if he should die, you’d be the sole heiress.”

  Elaine turned pale again.

  “It gets better,” Stephen went on, savoring his words. “If, for example, these doctors in the insane asylum succeed in driving out what’s left of good old Thomas’s reason—they won’t need more than a year or two for that—you could have him legally incapacitated. And from then on, you’d be the mistress of a handsome farm and twelve thousand sheep. Isn’t that what you’ve always wanted?” Stephen grinned.

  Elaine ran her trembling hands over the tablecloth.

  “You should also think about Callie’s needs,” Stephen added with a serious face. The little dog wagged her tail when she heard her name and looked up at Stephen adoringly, hungering for another treat. “She’s a sheepdog after all. She needs a few sheep.�
��

  Only then did Elaine realize that her brother was joking, and she attempted a feeble smile.

  “In all seriousness, Elaine, from a financial perspective, you might want to reconsider the divorce in light of all this,” said George Greenwood. “We’re in an excellent negotiating position. Perhaps Mrs. Sideblossom would be amenable to arranging an alimony agreement.”

  Elaine shook her head violently. “I don’t want any money from them,” she whispered. “Let Zoé have it. I just never want to see him again.”

  “We should be able to arrange that without any trouble,” George said. “According to my attorney, Zoé is planning to relocate to London. As soon as her future husband is capable of travel and their marriage is finalized. She’s already found a suitable and pleasant sanatorium in Lancashire where she can safely lock him up. Apparently, the asylums in England are more modern and offer greater chances of recovery.”

  Stephen smiled. “Even more importantly, however, London is much more attractive for young widows than a remote corner of Lake Pukaki.”

  “I hope she’ll be happy,” Elaine said seriously. “She was not very nice to me, but I believe she’s been through quite a bit. If she finds what she’s looking for in England, that would be all right with me. How long does your lawyer think it will take, Uncle George?”

  “You can start working on your dancing again,” Elaine said tenderly. It was much later that evening, and she was a little tipsy from the champagne and the prospect of finally being free. Timothy kissed her in front of the hotel stables while Roly hitched Fellow to the chaise.

  “And if I understood Uncle George correctly, we won’t even have to go to Wales.”

  Timothy nodded and stroked her hair.

  “And if I understood Uncle George correctly, I’ll be calling the tune soon enough,” he said fiercely. “Florence Biller will be amazed at how much life is still left in the Lambert Mine.” He smiled. “I just feel sorry for Callie on account of all those little sheep she’ll be missing out on.” Callie heard her name and leaped up on him. “Of course, we could get ahold of a couple and let them pasture in the mining compound.”