In the Land of the Long White Cloud (2 page)

“Baronets normally marry baronesses,” she finally replied curtly to George’s question. “And as for this…” she pointed to the church leaflet, “I was reading the article, not the advertisement.”

George said nothing but grinned knowingly. The article was about applying heat to arthritis, surely of interest to the older members of the parish, but Miss Davenport clearly did not suffer from joint pain.

Nevertheless, his teacher looked at the clock and decided to end the afternoon lesson after all. While George needed only five minutes to comb his hair and change for dinner, and Helen hardly more than that, it always took quite a bit longer to get William out of his ink-stained school uniform and into a presentable suit. Helen was grateful that she was not responsible for looking after William’s presentability. A nanny saw to that.

The young governess ended the lesson with a few general remarks on the importance of grammar, to which the two boys listened only halfheartedly. Immediately afterward, William leaped up excitedly, without giving his schoolwork a backward glance.

“I have to show Mummy, real quick, what I’ve made!” he declared, successfully foisting the work of cleaning up on Helen. She couldn’t risk having him flee in tears to his mother, telling her about some outrageous injustice on the part of his teacher. George cast a glance at William’s poorly executed drawing, which his mother would no doubt praise with cries of delight. Then he quickly packed his things. Helen noticed that he cast an almost sympathetic look her way as he left. She caught herself thinking about George's comment from earlier that, if she never found a husband, she would have to wrestle with hopeless cases like Willy the rest of her days.

Helen reached for the church leaflet. She had meant to throw it away but then thought better of it. She snuck it into her bag and took it with her to her room.

Robert Greenwood did not have much time for his family, but dinnertime with his wife and children was sacred to him. The presence of the young governess did not bother him a bit. On the contrary, he often found it stimulating to include Helen Davenport in conversation and learn her views on current events, literature, and music. She clearly
had a better understanding of these matters than his spouse, whose classical education was somewhat lacking in this regard. Lucinda’s interests were limited to keeping house, idolizing her younger son, and working on the ladies’ committees of various charitable organizations.

So on this particular evening, Robert Greenwood smiled amiably as Helen entered, and pulled out a chair for her after formally greeting the young instructor. Helen returned the smile, taking care, however, to include Lucinda Greenwood. Under no circumstances did she want to arouse the suspicion that she was flirting with her employer, even if Robert Greenwood was an undeniably attractive man. Tall and slim, he had a thin, intelligent face and inquisitive brown eyes. His brown three-piece suit and gold watch chain suited him admirably, and his manners were second to none—even those of the gentlemen from the noble families in whose social circles the Greenwoods moved. Nevertheless, they were not entirely recognized in these circles and were still regarded as parvenus. Robert Greenwood’s father had built his flourishing company from practically nothing, and his son worked hard to increase their prosperity and social standing. Which explained his marriage to Lucinda Raiford, who came from an impoverished noble family. The Raifords’ poverty could be easily traced to Lucinda’s father’s penchant for gambling and horses, or so the rumors went. Lucinda had only grudgingly accepted her bourgeois status and tended a bit toward showing off. Thus the Greenwoods’ receptions and garden parties were always a touch more opulent than those of other London society notables. Though the other ladies enjoyed them, they criticized them nevertheless.

Even this evening, Lucinda had once again over-primped for a simple dinner with her family. She wore an elegant dress of lilac-colored silk, and her maid must have been busy for hours with her hair. Lucinda chatted on about a meeting of the ladies’ committee for the local orphanage that she’d attended that afternoon, but she did not get much of a response; neither Helen nor Robert Greenwood were especially interested.

“And what have you all done with this lovely day?” Lucinda Greenwood asked, finally turning her attention to her family. “I don’t
need to ask you, Robert; presumably, it was work, work, work.” She showered her husband with a gaze that was no doubt meant to convey loving indulgence.

Lucinda Greenwood was of the opinion that her spouse paid too little attention to her and her social obligations. Now he grimaced unintentionally. Robert likely had an unkind response on the tip of his tongue, for his work not only provided for the family but also made Lucinda’s involvement in the various ladies’ committees possible in the first place. Helen doubted that Lucinda Greenwood’s organizational abilities had secured her election—it was more likely a result of her spouse’s charitable nature.

“I had a very interesting conversation with a wool producer from New Zealand, and…” Robert began, glancing at his eldest son. But Lucinda simply carried on speaking, now turning her indulgent smile on William.

“And you, my dear children? Surely you played in the garden, didn’t you? Did you beat George and Miss Davenport at croquet again, William dearest?”

Helen stared fixedly at her plate. Out of the corner of her eye, she saw George blinking heavenward in his usual manner, as though calling out to an understanding angel for succor. In reality, William had succeeded in winning more points than his older brother in only one instance, and George had had a nasty cold at the time. Although Helen hit the ball more skillfully through the hoops than William, she often let him win. Lucinda approved, but her husband admonished her whenever he observed the ruse.

“The boy must get used to the fact that the world plays rough with fools,” he said sternly. “He has to learn to lose. That’s the only way he will ever win!”

Helen doubted that William would ever win, in any field at all. But her flash of sympathy for the unfortunate child was immediately eclipsed by his next comment.

“Oh, Mummy, Miss Davenport didn’t let us play at all,” William said with a pout. “We sat inside the whole day and studied, studied, studied.”

Lucinda shot Helen a disapproving look. “Is this true, Miss Davenport? You know, of course, that the children need fresh air. At this age they can’t simply sit with their noses in books all day!”

Helen seethed within, but she could not accuse William of lying. To her relief, George stepped in.

“That’s simply not true. Just like every day, William took a walk after lunch. But then it started to rain, and he didn’t want to go out. The nanny dragged him around the park once, and there wasn’t any time left for croquet before our lesson.”

“William painted instead,” Helen said, in an effort to redirect the conversation. Maybe Lucinda Greenwood would start praising William’s museum-worthy sketch and forget about William’s lack of fresh air. But it didn’t turn out as she’d hoped.

“Even so, Miss Davenport, when the weather at noon doesn’t cooperate, you simply must take a break in the afternoon. In the circles in which William will someday move, physical fitness is almost as important as intellectual ability.”

William seemed to enjoy the reprimand for his teacher, and Helen thought once more of the aforementioned advertisement.

George seemed to read Helen’s thoughts. Ignoring the discussion with William and his mother, he took up the conversation where his father had left off. Helen had noticed this trick between father and son several times before and was generally astounded at the elegant transition. This time, however, George’s comment made her blush.

“Miss Davenport is interested in New Zealand, Father.”

Helen swallowed convulsively as all eyes turned to her.

“Oh, really?” Robert Greenwood asked calmly. “Are you considering emigrating?” he smiled. “New Zealand is a good choice. No excessive heat and no malaria-infested swamps like in India. No bloodthirsty natives like America. No offspring of criminal settlers like Australia…”

“Really?” Helen asked, happy to have the conversation brought back around to neutral ground. “Was New Zealand not also settled by convicts?”

Robert Greenwood shook his head. “Not at all. The communities there were almost entirely founded by good Christian Brits, and so it remains today. I don’t mean to say that there aren’t dubious subjects there. Some crooks might have come ashore, especially in the whaling camps on the west coast, and sheep shearing colonies aren’t likely to consist entirely of good, respectable men. But New Zealand is most assuredly not a catch pit of social scum. The colony there is still quite young. It won’t be able to support itself for a few years yet.”

“But the natives are dangerous!” George interjected. Clearly he now wanted to shine with his knowledge too. He had an affinity for military confrontations, Helen knew from lessons, and an outstanding memory. “There was fighting not long ago, right, Dad? Didn’t you tell us about how one of your business partners had all his wool burned up?”

Robert Greenwood nodded at his son, pleased. “That’s right, George. But that’s in the past—over ten years ago now. Even if skirmishes do occasionally still flare up, they aren’t due to the presence of the colonists. The natives have always been tractable. No, it was the sale of land that was the issue, and, who can say, it’s entirely possible that our people cheated this or that tribal chieftain. But since the queen sent our good Captain Hobson over there as lieutenant general, those conflicts have let up. The man is an ingenious strategist. In 1849 he had forty-six chieftains sign a treaty in which they declared themselves subjects of the queen. The Crown has had right of preemption for land sales ever since. Unfortunately, not everyone has played along, and not all the colonists maintain the peace. That’s why there are still occasional disturbances. But in general the country is safe—so no need to fear, Miss Davenport.” Robert Greenwood winked at Helen.

Lucinda Greenwood knit her brow. “You’re not really considering leaving England, Miss Davenport?” she asked sullenly. “You can’t seriously be thinking of answering that unspeakable notice our pastor published in the parish leaflet? Against the express recommendation of our ladies’ committee, I might add!”

Helen fought not to blush again.

“What sort of notice?” inquired Robert, turning to Helen, who merely hemmed and hawed.

“I…I don’t know exactly what it was about. There was just a notice…”

“A community in New Zealand is seeking girls willing to marry,” George apprised his father. “It seems that this South Sea paradise suffers from a lack of women.”

“George!” his mother chided, horrified.

Robert Greenwood laughed. “South Sea paradise? Well, the climate is rather like that of England,” he corrected his son. “But it’s certainly no secret that there are more men than women in the colonies. With the exception of Australia, perhaps, where the female dregs of society have washed ashore: cheats, thieves, whor…ahem, women of easy virtue. But when it comes to voluntarily emigrating, our ladies are less adventurous than our lords of creation. Either they go with their husbands or not at all. A typical trait of the weaker sex.”

“Indeed!” Lucinda Greenwood agreed with her husband, while Helen bit her tongue. She was far from convinced of male superiority. She merely had to look at William or think of the endlessly dragging studies of her brothers. Well hidden in her room, Helen even kept a copy of a book by women’s rights advocate Mary Wollstonecraft, but she knew she had best keep that to herself. Lucinda Greenwood would have let her go immediately. “It is against the female nature to board dirty, foreign-bound ships without male protection, take up quarters in hostile lands, and possibly perform tasks God has reserved for men. And sending Christian women overseas to marry them off there borders on white slavery!”

“Now, now, they don’t send the women off unprepared,” Helen interrupted. “The advertisement clearly envisions previous correspondence. And it expressly mentioned highly esteemed, well-positioned men.”

“I thought you hadn’t even noticed the advertisement,” Robert teased, though his indulgent smile softened the sharpness of his words.

Helen blushed anew. “I…ahem, it might be that I briefly skimmed it…”

George smirked.

His mother did not seem to have caught the brief exchange. She had already moved on to a different aspect of the New Zealand problem.

“The servant issue in the colonies strikes me as much more problematic than any lack of women,” she explained. “We debated the issue thoroughly at the orphanage committee today. Apparently, the better families in…what’s the name of that town again? Christchurch? At any rate, they can’t find any good domestics there. Maids are almost impossible to come by.”

“Which could be entirely the result of a general lack of women,” Robert Greenwood remarked. Helen stifled a smile.

“In any case, our committee will be sending over a few of our orphan girls,” Lucinda continued. “We have four or five good little ones who are around twelve years old, old enough to earn their living themselves. In this country we’d be hard-pressed to find a position for them. People here prefer somewhat older girls. But over there they should be smacking their lips.”