Kitty Page 13

  Kitty sighed inwardly. If he had looked odd, or had an obvious physical or character fault, she could claim that as a defence against a possible courtship, but so far there seemed to be very little wrong with him. And he was certainly pleasant and polite.

  ‘And do you intend to stay in New Zealand long, Mr Bullock?’ Sarah asked. ‘Or do you have plans for pastures new? It’s a very exciting vocation, evangelising, isn’t it? So many far corners to visit, so many souls to be saved.’

  Simon looked slightly startled. ‘I’m not sure yet, Mrs Kelleher. I’ve only just settled into Waimate, although I am enjoying my work there, I must say.’

  Sarah went on fishing. ‘And will Mrs Bullock be joining you at any stage?’

  Mortified, Kitty shot a glance at Simon, who looked even more alarmed now.

  ‘My mother?’ he said.

  ‘No, no,’ Sarah said, waving her hands as though to shoo away a misunderstanding. ‘I was referring to your wife.’

  ‘Er, I’m not married.’

  ‘Not even promised, a fine young man like you?’

  ‘No.’

  Kitty felt a flash of anger towards her aunt. Apparently Mrs Williams had already reported that Mr Bullock was unattached, but clearly Sarah wanted to hear it herself.

  Sarah ploughed on relentlessly. ‘It must be very lonely for you out at Waimate then in the evenings.’

  Kitty wanted to reach out and slap her aunt now.

  Simon cleared his throat nervously. ‘Actually, no, it isn’t, really. I have my lessons to prepare, there’s always work to do on the farm, and I’ve been spending much of the little spare time I do have getting to know the Maoris. A fascinating and highly intelligent race of people, to my mind. Would you not agree, Mrs Kelleher?’

  Sarah stared at him for a moment, as though vaguely perturbed by the fact that he’d said something requiring an insightful response. ‘Quite,’ she said. ‘Although somewhat challenging at times, I fear.’

  ‘Oh, I don’t know,’ Simon replied. ‘I think there’s always something to be learnt from people who look at life from a different vantage point, and there are plenty of those about.’

  Kitty, sensing something of the intellect behind his words, gave him another, more appraising, glance.

  Sarah bowed her head graciously. ‘You know, Mr Bullock, I do believe you are right. And the Lord himself tells us to practise tolerance and acceptance, does He not?’ Another loud crash came from the kitchen, and Sarah shot to her feet. ‘If you will excuse me for just a moment, I must check on how the girls are getting on with the tea things.’

  She hurried out, skirts swishing, giving Kitty an exaggerated nod of encouragement as she left the room.

  Kitty sat with her hands folded demurely in her lap, hoping that she wouldn’t have to come up with something interesting to say first, but Mr Bullock remained silent. Looking at him from beneath her eyelashes, she saw that he was gazing at the floor, his hands resting awkwardly on the arms of his chair. He appeared to be tongue-tied now that they were alone, and as uncomfortable as she felt; the thoughtful and philosophising young man of a moment ago had retreated.

  Neither of them said anything. The ticking of the mantel clock seemed very loud.

  After several minutes Sarah came back. Wai followed carrying a tray on which sat a china teapot, matching sugar bowl and milk jug, and a plate of lemon slices, the tip of her tongue out as she concentrated on not dropping the lot. Amy came after her, bearing another tray that held sandwiches, pikelets and slices of freshly baked fruit cake. The cake had been in one piece when Kitty had last seen it and she wondered how much of it the girls had eaten when no one was looking. When everything had been laid out they departed, but not far enough before they burst into clearly audible high-pitched giggles. Sarah frowned. Kitty covered her mouth.

  ‘A cress and mustard sandwich, Mr Bullock?’ Sarah urged, offering him the plate of tiny sandwiches with the crusts removed. ‘Or perhaps a slice of fruit cake? Kitty made it—it’s very moist. She’s an excellent cook.’

  Simon had a bit of everything—whether he was hungry or because he didn’t want to offend by refusing, Kitty couldn’t tell. His manners were impeccable, and he dabbed at his mouth with his napkin after every bite. And now that her aunt was back in the room he seemed quite happy to chat away again.

  ‘Have you been out to Waimate mission, Miss Carlisle?’ he asked.

  Kitty shook her head and hastily swallowed her mouthful of cake. ‘No, I haven’t, Mr Bullock, although I have heard that it is the very image of an English village.’

  ‘Yes, it is rather,’ he said. ‘I expect that the addition of my fruit trees will enhance that impression even further. I brought a selection of cuttings with me from home. I’m particularly looking forward to watching the development of my quinces and pomegranates. I do, however, have doubts about the potential success of some of my vegetable seeds. It doesn’t seem to get as cold here as it does in England, and some of the varieties I’m putting in really do need a good crisp autumn season before they will do well. In particular I’m thinking about the artichokes, beetroot and asparagus, perhaps even the radishes. I’m fairly confident of the swedes, parsnips and turnips, though. They seem to be able to grow more or less anywhere that isn’t positively tropical. I must say there are some impressive fields of wheat at Waimate, not to mention oats and barley. Potatoes and of course kumara are doing very well there too. Mr Clarke has certainly done a marvellous job of clearing the land.’

  On and on he droned. Kitty’s eyes began to glaze over. Mercifully he finally finished his tea, taking such a large gulp that the slice of lemon in it ended up on his top lip, then he rather indiscreetly withdrew his watch from his vest pocket.

  ‘Oh dear,’ he said, ‘I have an appointment with Reverend Williams very shortly.’

  Kitty stifled a sigh of relief.

  Getting to his feet and reaching for his hat, Simon said, ‘Thank you very much for a lovely afternoon, Mrs Kelleher, and such a delightful tea.’ Turning to Kitty, he added, ‘It was very nice to meet you, Miss Carlisle.’

  Now that he was leaving, Kitty felt she could afford to be a little more enthusiastic. ‘It was lovely to meet you too, Mr Bullock.’

  ‘I hope I may call again soon?’ he said, his eyes not quite meeting Kitty’s.

  ‘Of course you may,’ Sarah said. ‘Kitty is usually at home in the afternoons. She is very involved in assisting our housegirls with their chores and their spiritual tutelage, but I’m sure she can find time for a visitor such as yourself. You would be more than welcome.’

  Bowing slightly, Simon said, ‘Thank you very much. Good day, ladies.’

  Sarah and Kitty accompanied him to the door, and watched as he disappeared through the garden towards the beach.

  ‘What a very pleasant young man,’ Sarah said. ‘I’m sure Reverend Kelleher would approve.’

  Probably, but I don’t, Kitty thought, wondering how on earth she was going to discourage Simon Bullock without hurting his feelings.

  He came to visit three more times over the next month, even though Kitty had told Sarah as diplomatically as she could that she didn’t really feel that Mr Bullock was quite the right sort of man for her, and that perhaps he might not even be as romantically interested as Sarah believed. And she really did think that. Although he was always polite and seemed happy to chat about his garden and the lessons he was preparing or the modifications he was making to Waimate mission’s water-mill, he still managed to project an air of privacy and distance, as if he had secrets he was unwilling to share with anyone, least of all Kitty. But Sarah wouldn’t hear of this, insisting that Mr Bullock was simply a very shy man, unaccustomed to female company. And anyway, she said, she had promised her sister-in-law Emily that should a suitable opportunity present itself she would do everything she could to help arrange a marriage for Kitty. Were such a match to be successful, then that extremely unfortunate business with that scoundrel Hugh Alexander could be well and tru
ly relegated to the past. So there was no more to be said about it, and she hoped that Kitty understood. Kitty understood all too well, particularly the fact that her aunt and uncle were her guardians and therefore had complete jurisdiction over what she did or didn’t do, and the knowledge filled her with both dismay and frustration.

  Because Paihia was a small and insulated community, Simon’s visits also prompted interested inquiries from Rebecca Purcell. Even Jannah Tait commented, although she did warn Kitty that the life of a missionary’s wife was seldom easy. Mrs Williams, possibly mindful of the lack of privacy in such a tiny settlement, never mentioned it. Kitty always replied that so far as she was aware there wasn’t much chance of a formal courtship, but suspected that the women thought she was merely being coy. She was beginning to enjoy Simon’s company, especially his wit, which she found sharp and rather entertaining, but she knew they would never be anything more than friends. She was also, however, starting to feel as though she’d become caught up in an orchestrated sequence of events that was certain to culminate in an outcome she would be powerless to prevent.

  During Simon Bullock’s fourth visit, Sarah made the unprecedented suggestion that he and Kitty take a walk together, unchaperoned, along the beach. Kitty nearly fainted—she had never heard such an unlikely proposition from her aunt.

  ‘But what will people think, Aunt Sarah?’ she protested, embarrassed because Simon was standing only feet away. She wasn’t bothered by the breach of propriety herself, but she didn’t want to be alone with him in case he said something…regrettable.

  ‘Very little, probably,’ Sarah replied with uncharacteristic insouciance. ‘Go on, it’s a lovely day—make the most of it.’

  It was a lovely day, too. The tail end of winter had almost passed and there was a feel of spring in the air, even if the buds on the fruit trees hadn’t quite opened yet and a stiff breeze still scudded in off the harbour. Reluctantly, Kitty collected her bonnet—a grey one that matched her dress—and her heavy woollen shawl.

  She expected Simon to take her elbow when they left the house, but he didn’t. They walked in silence through the garden and down onto the beach, then turned left and followed the shoreline towards an outcrop of rocks at the far end.

  The dregs of waves hissed towards them, making them veer sharply to avoid getting their boots wet, then drained away again, leaving tiny, bubbling holes in the sand. Neither of them spoke. The further they walked in silence, the more uncomfortable Kitty became. She had the distinct feeling that Simon did have something he wanted to say to her, but that he couldn’t quite summon the courage; the growing tension between them was excruciating.

  Finally they reached the rocks.

  Simon whipped off his coat and laid it down. ‘Would you care to sit?’

  ‘Thank you,’ Kitty said.

  Simon sat down next to her, but not too close. ‘Are you comfortable, Miss Carlisle?’

  ‘Yes I am, thank you,’ she replied, although there was something rather sharp jabbing her bottom. She shifted slightly. They both gazed out to sea in another awkward silence.

  Eventually, Simon said, ‘I say, is that Captain Farrell’s schooner coming in? Very handsome, if it is. I’ve been told she’s a fine vessel.’

  Kitty followed the direction of his gaze and squinted—the Katipo was indeed sailing in between the two headlands at the mouth of the harbour, looking sharp and streamlined as she turned her bow towards Paihia.

  Surprised, she asked, ‘Do you know the captain?’

  ‘Yes. Not well, but he comes out to Waimate fairly regularly.’

  ‘Does he? What for?’

  ‘Trade. He trades here as well, doesn’t he?’

  ‘Yes, although he isn’t all that popular with Reverend Williams and the others. Uncle George certainly doesn’t like him.’

  ‘No. Nor, I suspect, does Mr Clarke.’

  ‘Is Mr Clarke a lay minister? I’ve never met him.’

  Simon nodded. ‘We don’t have an ordained minister at the moment, which is why Reverend Williams travels out to us so often.’

  ‘Fortunately for my uncle,’ Kitty said. ‘I expect he’d be very cross at having to play second fiddle all the time. He’s in his element when Reverend Williams is away. You should come and listen to one of his sermons.’

  Simon turned to look at her. ‘Should I?’

  Kitty thought he might be trying not to smile. ‘Yes,’ she said, ‘they’re very…inspired.’

  Simon shifted his gaze back to the Katipo, tacking now to make the most of the onshore winds. ‘Captain Farrell seems to spend quite a lot of time with the Maoris at Waimate. I don’t think Mr Clarke is very pleased about that. I think he feels that the captain is a seditious influence.’

  ‘Really?’

  ‘As far as I can gather.’

  The wind gusted briskly and Kitty pulled her shawl closer. ‘Do you?’

  ‘Sorry, do I what?’

  ‘Think the captain is a seditious influence.’

  ‘It depends on whose perspective you’re considering when you say seditious.’

  Kitty looked at him; she had never heard Simon speak like this before, expect perhaps for a few moments on that very first day he came to visit. ‘Well, whose perspective are we considering?’ she asked.

  Simon picked up a pebble and threw it into the waves, where it disappeared soundlessly. ‘Mr Clarke is of the opinion that Captain Farrell doesn’t believe New Zealand should be colonised by anyone, and that the Maoris should be left alone, and that not even the Church Missionary Society should really have a presence here. So I suppose he is a seditious influence, from the Society’s perspective at least. And Mr Busby’s as well, no doubt.’

  Kitty nodded, recalling the awful argument between Rian and Uncle George the day that Amy was diagnosed with measles. ‘But you’re a Society missionary, what do you think?’

  Simon picked up another pebble. ‘So are you.’

  ‘Not by choice,’ Kitty said without thinking, then felt her face burn as Simon fixed her with a sharp look.

  ‘Ah,’ he said, ‘a lady with a secret. I thought so.’ He smiled, then shrugged as though it were no business of his. ‘To answer your question, I think the captain has a valid point, but I also think it’s too late to turn back the clock. The Maoris are becoming accustomed to civilisation—well, our idea of civilisation, anyway—so we might as well try teaching them how to reap the benefits of that while we can. And as far as I’m concerned, that means converting them to Christianity. Then, if settlers do start thronging here, the Maoris will have a good strong faith to sustain them, spiritually at least.’

  Kitty said, ‘I suspect a lot of them feel they already do. They must, or our conversion rate would be a lot higher than it is, surely?’

  Simon laughed. ‘Now, that is seditious talk.’

  ‘Not really,’ Kitty replied. ‘Just an observation.’

  They lapsed into silence again, and Kitty decided they really should be getting back to the house. But before she could say anything, Simon swivelled around on his perch to face her directly.

  ‘Kitty…’ he began.

  Oh dear, she thought, tensing at his use of her Christian name; surely it could only mean he was about to say something alarmingly personal.

  He cleared his throat nervously and tried again. ‘Kitty, I need to discuss something with you.’

  He started to fiddle with a button on his jacket, turning it and turning it until it came off in his hand. Kitty waited. He put the button in his pocket.

  ‘As you know, this is the fourth time I’ve called on you.’ He cleared his throat a second time, so forcefully it sounded like a musket going off.

  Kitty winced inwardly, desperately trying to think of the kindest words with which to turn him down.

  ‘I’ve enjoyed your company, I really have,’ he continued, ‘and I would like to go on enjoying it.’ He stared at his boots for a moment, then took a very deep breath. ‘But I’m sorry, Kitty, I’m not real
ly interested in marriage.’

  Kitty gaped at him.

  ‘You’re a beautiful young woman, and very charming and clever, and I’m terribly sorry if I’ve misled you, but I just don’t want a wife.’

  Kitty was stunned—barely nineteen years old and this was the second time someone had said those exact same words to her!

  Simon blundered on. ‘This was Mrs Williams’s idea. Apparently your aunt told her you were looking for a husband, and Mrs Williams thought I’d fit the bill. I don’t know why I went along with it, I really don’t.’

  Kitty started to giggle, then she snorted, then she gave a laugh that sounded hysterical even to her own ears. She laughed until Simon started to laugh too.

  ‘Oh dear,’ she said, dabbing at her eyes with the end of her shawl. ‘I’m sorry. It’s just that, well, I’ve been lying awake at night worrying about how to tell you that I can’t marry you.’

  ‘Have you really?’ Simon said. ‘Well, that’s a relief, I must say.’ Then, frowning, he asked, ‘Why can’t you marry me, just as a matter of interest? What’s wrong with me?’

  ‘Nothing. You’re a very nice man.’

  ‘Ah,’ Simon said knowingly, ‘there’s someone waiting for you at home?’

  ‘Hardly. No, I’m just not interested in acquiring a husband. A bit like you, but the other way around.’ She wondered how much she should tell him, if anything; after all, he had more or less jilted her. ‘I did have a liaison of sorts with a gentleman in Norfolk, but it went, well, it went very sour, and I’m afraid it’s rather put me off. That was the main reason for my coming out here, to be honest.’

  ‘To avoid him?’

  ‘No, to avoid the scandal.’

  Simon gave her a genuinely sympathetic look. ‘Mmm. Life doesn’t always work out the way we would like it to, does it?’

  ‘No, it doesn’t,’ Kitty said. ‘But what about you? I must say I do feel just the tiniest bit insulted that you don’t want to marry me.’