Song of the Spirits Read Free Page B

think of us as immigrating…”
    The banker raised his hands in a gesture of appeasement. “No, no, my friend. The way I see it, you’re a patriot. So what brings you here from the Emerald Isle? Frustration with the Home Rule Bill affair? It was to be expected that the lords would shoot it down. But if you yourself are—”
    “I’m no great estate owner,” William remarked icily. “Let alone an earl. My father may sympathize with the House of Lords in certain respects, but…” He bit his lip. “Forgive me. Now is neither the time nor the place.”
    Helen decided to change the subject before this hothead reacted any more impetuously. Judging from his temperament, there was no doubt he was Irish. Moreover, he’d had a falling out with his father. It was possible that this was the reason he had emigrated.
    “And now you would like to look for gold, Mr. Martyn?” she asked casually. “Have you already staked a claim?”
    William shrugged, suddenly appearing unsure.
    “Not exactly,” he replied with some restraint. “I was advised about a few places that look promising, but I cannot decide.”
    “You should look for a partner,” the older of the two bankers advised. “Your best bet would be an experienced man. There are certainly plenty of veterans in the gold fields who already participated in the Australian gold rush.”
    William pursed his lips. “What do I want with a partner who’s been panning for ten years and still hasn’t found anything? I’ll pass on that sort of experience.” His light-blue eyes flashed contemptuously.
    The banker laughed. Helen, on the other hand, found William’s superior attitude rather unbefitting.
    “It would be hard to fault you,” the older banker said at last. “But hardly anyone makes their fortune here. If you want a serious piece of advice, young man, forget this gold-mining business. Stick to something you know. New Zealand is a paradise for founders. Practically every calling promises a bigger income than gold mining.”
    The real question was whether this young man had ever learned a practical calling, Helen thought. So far, he struck her as the well-brought-up but rather spoiled scion of a wealthy house. It would be interesting to see how he reacted to the first blisters on his fingers when he went out mining for gold.

2
    N ow what do you boys think you’re doing?”
    James McKenzie let his already foul mood loose on his son, Jack, and the boy’s two friends, Hone and Maaka. The three of them had tied a basket to one of the cabbage trees that gave the approach to the manor of Kiward Station an exotic flair and were practicing throwing balls into it. Or they were until Jack’s father appeared, his irritated countenance giving the boys pause.
    They did not understand why he had gotten so angry. Sure, the gardener might not be thrilled about the transformation of the front yard into a playground. After all, it required a great deal of effort to rake the pale gravel evenly and care for the flower beds. And Jack’s mother considered it important to maintain a suitable appearance for the front of the manor—she might not be pleased to discover a basketball hoop and trampled grass there. Jack’s father, however, did not tend to care much about such superficialities. Indeed, the boys had rather expected him to pick up the ball that had landed at his feet and take a shot himself.
    “Shouldn’t you boys be in school right now?”
    Ah, so that was what this was about. Relieved, Jack beamed at his father.
    “Actually, yes, but Miss Witherspoon released us early. She still has to pack and get ready… for the trip. I didn’t even know that she was going.”
    The boys’ expressions—both on the Maori boys’ wide brown faces and Jack’s freckled one—revealed their delight at the prospect of more free days ahead.
    James, however, was ready to explode. Heather Witherspoon, their young governess, offered a far more attractive target for his rage than the three