Beneath the Kauri Tree (The Sea of Freedom Trilogy Book 2) Page 5

  “I, for one, will be happy to get out of here as soon as possible,” Kathleen stated. “No matter how lovely the surroundings. And as much as I like your mother.”

  Peter’s mother rarely left her rooms on the upper floor of the house anymore, ostensibly because she had difficulty climbing the stairs. However, during their short conversation, Kathleen had gleaned that Alice’s décor did not particularly please her. Kathleen liked the old lady considerably more than her young daughter-in-law, but she did not want to judge Alice. Perhaps she had good reasons for marrying a much older and less attractive man.

  “My mother knows that we want to be on to Rhondda soon. I think she likes you. She spoke very positively of you. However, there might be a problem with the house at Treherbert. The way things look, Randolph’s moved in there, after Joseph and Alice married and before Uncle James died. Now he’s claiming the house. Presumably, my uncle wanted to change his will in Randolph’s favor.”

  Randolph was Joseph’s son from his first marriage. Kathleen could not blame him for fleeing his father’s house.

  “Perhaps we can come to some agreement with him,” she said. “There is a village that belongs to it with tenants living there—or was it a mine? When we have possession of the estate and make him steward . . .”

  Peter shrugged. “Would you feel comfortable as an absentee landlady while someone else brings in your rent?”

  Kathleen blushed. Things were only getting worse. Sitting through teatime had been difficult enough, but now she was supposed to be a landlady?

  Chapter 3

  It was beautiful March day in Dunedin, sunny and warm enough to seem summery to Matariki. The long Christmas break had ended only two weeks before, and the new school year, her fourth in Otago, had just begun. When her parents had first brought her to Dunedin, the harbor immediately fascinated her. Michael had steered his team onto the coastal road in the direction of Parakanui, and Matariki could not get enough of the view of the idyllic coves, beaches, and the Pacific, which gleamed deep blue and sea green.

  During her time living in Dunedin, she left the study rooms whenever the weather permitted, taking her assigned reading with her on her daily rides. South of the city were plenty of beaches, and she would tether her horse and leave it to graze while she went to the beach and did her homework. Her favorite spot was a remote cove off the coastal road; here, Matariki imagined residing in her own hidden fortress, waiting for her fairy-tale prince—although her books for school rarely encouraged daydreaming as much as Romeo and Juliet, which she was now reading.

  Her attention really left much to be desired. Instead of underlining passages that could help her with her assignment on the characterization of Romeo, she let her gaze wander over the deep-blue sea. Her birth father’s people had overcome it in canoes, and Kahu Heke was himself a courageous sailor. Years before, he had helped Lizzie escape arrest on the North Island by bringing her from the Bay of Islands to Kaikoura in the war canoe of the Ngati Pau. They had sailed around half the North Island and navigated the channel between the South and North Island. Matariki found that considerably more romantic than sword fighting in Shakespeare’s play. Distractedly she scratched Dingo, who had stretched out beside her. Suddenly, though, the dog leaped up and barked.

  Two men thrust themselves out of the shadows on the other end of the cove, as if materializing from thin air, and raised their arms defensively as the dog rushed at them. Horrified, Matariki saw the guns in their hands.

  “Dingo!”

  The girl cried out as a shot was fired, but fortunately the bullet did not hit the dog. Dingo broke off his assault and rushed back to Matariki’s side. The trembling animal pressed against her, Matariki looked at the men. Her book fell from her hand.

  “Don’t move.” The man spoke Maori, but it sounded unusual. And he looked strange. Matariki had never before seen a young man whose face was so completely covered in moko, the traditional tattoos of the tribes. Among the Ngai Tahu, this custom had become increasingly rare. Haikina and Hemi had not been tattooed at all. Other members of the iwi, the tribe, had smaller tattoos on their noses and foreheads. The two men who now approached her in an odd mixture of threatening gestures and defensiveness, on the other hand, looked truly martial. The traditional polygons and spirals wound themselves across their cheeks to the chin, making the sight of their encircled eyes appear wild and their foreheads low. Both men wore their long hair tied into warrior knots, and the rest of their appearance was of the Maori warrior prepared for battle. Over loincloths they wore long skirts of hardened flax, a sort of colorful sash around their upper body, and small figurines of the gods, hei-tiki, of bone around their necks. However, they were not threatening Matariki with war clubs and spears but instead with modern firearms. One aimed a revolver at her, the other a hunting rifle.

  Dingo barked again. One of the men raised his gun; the other shook his head and said something, but Matariki only understood the word tapu.

  “You’re Matariki Heke?” asked the man who pointed the weapon at her.

  Matariki put her hand over Dingo’s snout. “I’m Matariki Drury,” she said, determined not to show any fear.

  In fact, she was more shocked than afraid. While the men seemed warlike, it also looked like they were in costume—the Ngai Tahu only put on such outfits for festivals. So, to Matariki, they seemed less like soldiers and more like kepas, group dancers about to begin performing a haka.

  “It’s time for you to acknowledge your duties to your tribe,” the other man said. “I had thought that she—”

  “She’s grown up among pakeha,” the first observed. “She may not know her purpose.”

  “I’m going now,” Matariki said.

  She had no idea why the men were there, or why one of them was still pointing his weapon at her, but they seemed to want to discuss the matter with each other first. Perhaps they would just let her go. Perhaps she had just been in the way of whatever they were up to. Were they smugglers? Nothing that they could be delivering illegally readily occurred to Matariki, but that was not her problem. She slowly moved to stand up.

  “You’re not going anywhere.” The man waved his revolver.

  Matariki raised her hands placatingly. At least Dingo was behaving. “I, I won’t tell anyone I saw you, agreed?” She forced herself to smile.

  The man with the weapon seemed to have come to a decision. He reared up before her—although he did keep a distance—and looked even more like the lead dancer in a group.

  “We’ve been charged with retrieving you. You belong to your people. May the sacred House of the Ngati Pau endure forever.”

  Matariki’s heart suddenly began to beat hard and fast. The whole scene seemed like a poor performance by the theater club of Otago Girls’ High School. Yet these men had weapons, and they were not props. After all, they had nearly shot Dingo. The “sacred House of the Ngati Pau” did, of course, clarify some things. Though the men were Maori, they were apparently not members of an iwi of the Ngai Tahu.

  “Who, who exactly gave you that charge?” she asked cautiously.

  “You are going to have to take on the responsibilities of a chieftain’s daughter.”

  He pressed closer to Matariki, who forced herself not to back away. In battle and defense among the Maori, it always first came down to awing the opponent. If he was sufficiently impressed, he would often break off his attack.

  Dingo started barking again, but this time no one paid attention to him. The men seemed to be more concerned that Matariki was not fleeing from them. Matariki found the expression in their eyes more than strange. Naturally her courage should irk them, but in reality, she had nothing to wield against them. The taller of the men was around six feet, and even the shorter one wouldn’t have needed a weapon to overpower the barely fourteen-year-old Matariki. To kidnap her, he just needed to throw her over his shoulder. Nevertheless, he seemed to prefer negotiation.

  “Your father sends us. Ariki Kahu Heke. We’re going to take
you to him.”

  Matariki frowned. She was confused and increasingly concerned. Might these men be crazy? “But Kahu Heke lives on the North Island. How are we supposed to get there? Fly?”

  The men shook their heads. They gestured energetically with their weapons, directing Matariki to go ahead of them, toward the rocks from which they had emerged.

  Matariki had to wade into the water and Dingo had to swim, but she knew the cove well and knew that it was completely safe to round the rocks while the sea was calm. Through the shallow water in which tiny fish swam and past the rocks, they reached the next cove, which was often flooded. Today the gravel beach was visible, and on it sat a gleaming outrigger canoe decorated with carvings. To Matariki, it seemed massive. Surely twenty men could occupy it. The two men could not have rowed it there alone. A folded sail lay in the boat. Matariki vacillated between disbelief, fear, and the desire for adventure. Doubtless the canoe was seaworthy, and the men seemed serious about spiriting her away to the North Island.

  “But, but I don’t know. What am I supposed to do? What are the duties of a chieftain’s daughter?”

  Matariki’s head was spinning. She sought support from the rocks. The men who had followed her into the narrow inlet reacted with alarm, almost fear. One seemed to want to duck when her shadow almost touched him.

  “There, over there!”

  The man energetically indicated Matariki should either climb into the boat or stand behind it. He wanted Matariki to keep a distance between himself and his friend. He did not answer her questions, but Matariki’s thoughts raced as she climbed over the canoe. What might Kahu Heke want from her? What were the duties of a Maori princess?

  Marriage politics was the first thing that occurred to her. Did her father want to marry her off? To some Maori prince to win the support of his tribe for the Hauhau? No, that was laughable. Matariki brushed her panic aside. She had once read a report by missionaries who lived on the South Island in which they disparaged the custom of marriage between brother and sister in chieftains’ families. Afterward, she had asked Haikina if that was common among the Maori.

  “Among us, no, not for a long time. But it’s supposed to continue on the North Island,” she had said. “Don’t look so horrified. It has advantages and disadvantages.”

  Matariki vaguely recalled a lecture on tapu and a strong royal line, but she did not need to worry about that now. As far as she knew, she was Kahu Heke’s only child, and even if there were a son, too, he could hardly be of marriageable age.

  The men had consulted briefly with each other; they seemed to feel safe now that Matariki stood on the other side of the canoe. There was no possibility of flight here. At most, she could swim. The taller one with the gun now began an explanation.

  “You stay there, chieftain’s daughter. Behind the canoe. Your dog too. And we’ll stay here in front, understand?”

  Apparently, the man wanted to divide the cove between them and Matariki and Dingo. Matariki did not know why.

  “I think I’m supposed to sail with you. But I can’t just go. I have to inform the school. And my parents will worry. And my horse—”

  Grainie stood tethered on the beach, but Matariki did not really worry so much for her. Eventually, she would tear herself free and run to the stables.

  “You won’t be informing anyone,” grumbled the taller man.

  “Your family is the tribe of the Ngati Pau,” said the shorter man. “You are only responsible to it. We will sail at high tide.”

  Matariki chewed her upper lip. That could be several hours. By then, they would have long since missed her at school. But nobody would know where to look for her. Perhaps she had mentioned the beach to Mary Jane, but she definitely had not described it, and it did not have a name. True, a search party could ride up and down the coastal road, and she did not doubt Michael would do so, but would Miss Partridge inform her parents soon enough?

  No one worried much when Matariki did not appear at dinner. Sometimes she was late when she had been off riding. Miss Maynard did not become nervous until she saw Matariki wasn’t in her room at bedtime. She asked Mary Jane if she knew anything, but she did not. And, no, they had not fought, and Mary Jane didn’t know of any spats with the other girls.

  “She just rode away. Like every day,” Mary Jane said.

  “But that’s how it always is,” said Miss Partridge when Miss Maynard pulled her aside. “The girls always cover for one another when one of them leaves. Have you checked the other rooms? Is there a party somewhere?”

  Miss Maynard shook her head. “It’s too early for a party. And besides, Matariki Drury wouldn’t be invited to something like that. I asked in the stables as well. Her horse and dog are also still missing. I’m worried. Should we send someone to Elizabeth Station?”

  Miss Partridge rubbed her forehead. It would make a bad impression if Matariki was annoyed by something and arrived sobbing at Elizabeth Station. Though that had never happened with the Drury girl, it certainly had with other charges. When the school had not reacted by informing the parents immediately of their daughter’s disappearance, there had mostly been trouble.

  “Could it be that she has, hmm, a beau?” inquired Miss Partridge disapprovingly. “I mean, these Maori girls ripen early. It could certainly be . . .”

  Miss Maynard did not dignify this with a response. “I’ll go back to Mr. Sullivan’s,” she said. “I’ll have him send a stableboy to the Drurys’. I have a bad feeling about this. Matariki would not simply disappear without telling anyone.”

  The sun had gone down, and as the moon rose, Matariki shivered in her thin summer clothes. The Maori men lit a fire on their side of the cove and wrapped themselves in blankets. Over the fire, a stew of meat and kumara, or sweet potatoes, bubbled. Matariki was hungry. Fine, this was an abduction, and victims could not expect particularly friendly treatment, but she was a chieftain’s daughter, and Kahu Heke could not have intended her to starve and freeze.

  Matariki had snuggled into the canoe’s leeward side, but now she stood up. “Can I perhaps get some of that?” she asked angrily. “Some of that food, some of those blankets? Or is it tikanga in the sacred House of the Ngati Pau to let a chieftain’s daughter starve?”

  The men winced anew as her shadow, created by the moonlight, fell in their vicinity. They whispered excitedly with each other as they had before. Apparently, they were of different opinions. She overheard the word tapu several times.

  “We’ll give you the black blanket,” the shorter one decided, and he threw it over the canoe to her. “Here. That’s yours now, understand?”

  “Don’t touch the others.” The taller man spoke, sounding fearful.

  Matariki looked at the pile of blankets the men had on hand. There was no shortage. They could easily have given her another and possibly another still for Dingo, who also was shivering. All the others were blue, however. Was there some tapu related to blanket color?

  She took the black blanket without thanks and pointed to the food. “And that?”

  Once more, there was quiet though frantic discussion. Matariki thought she heard something like, “We can’t let her starve the whole journey.”

  “Do you know how to build a fire?” the shorter warrior asked.

  Matariki arched her brows. “The sacred House of the Ngai Tahu,” she remarked snottily, “is always properly heated.”

  “Good,” said the man. “Then you can come over here and take this wood.” He separated a pile. “And here is a pot. Here are kumara and dried fish. Take it and cook for yourself.”

  Matariki sprang up to get the items, but the men pointed their weapons at her nervously. She had to wait until both had withdrawn behind the rocks on the edge of the inlet. Threatened from there by their weapons, she slowly climbed back over the canoe and carried the supplies to her side of the cove. Until this point, she had found this situation strange, but now the men’s behavior frightened her. It seemed she was in the clutches of madmen. And there was
no possibility of escape.

  Donny Sullivan’s stableboy galloped the entire way to Elizabeth Station and woke Lizzie and Michael Drury around three in the morning. Lizzie ran to Matariki’s room, and Michael ran to the stables, but Miss Partridge’s hope that the girl might have simply up and ridden home did not bear out. While Michael harnessed a team, Lizzie lit a few torches—the sign for danger or trouble worked out with the Maori village. A short time later, ten Maori warriors were with them, prepared to fend off any assailants of the Drurys or their gold source by force of weapons. They confirmed that Matariki had not fled to the Ngai Tahu either.

  Hemi and three other warriors who spoke at least some English joined the Drurys for the trip to Dunedin. Around morning, they all arrived at Otago Girls’ High School, where the massive warriors, some of whom wore moko, frightened the principal half to death. The sight of them made Mary Jane burst into tears. Michael and Lizzie believed the girl didn’t know anything, but she did recall that Matariki liked to ride to the beach. Michael divided up the search teams and headed out.

  Lizzie took over the continued investigation in the school. She was deathly pale when she returned to Miss Partridge’s office after a brief inspection of Matariki’s room.

  “Miss Partridge, we need to inform the police. Something serious must have happened. My daughter—”

  “Now, let’s not jump to conclusions.” The principal strained to remain calm. “Girls will be girls. Martha may have run away. She could be with some, hmm, beau.”

  Miss Maynard inhaled audibly. Lizzie merely stared at the older woman coldly. “Miss Partridge, my daughter’s no fool. She would never run away without taking some money at a very minimum. But her allowance and the money for the stables are still in her trunk. She didn’t take a change of clothes either. According to Mary Jane, she’s only wearing a riding skirt and a thin blouse. She would have frozen overnight. And she knows that. She’s spent plenty of nights outdoors.”