In the Land of the Long White Cloud

could make use of again and again in this context. Beyond that, the women naturally discussed Gwyneira’s sisters and their wonderful husbands, at which point her mother would express her hope that Gwyneira too would soon be blessed with a similarly good match. Gwyneira didn’t know herself if she hoped for that. She found her brothers-in-law boring, and Diana’s husband was almost old enough to be her father. There was a rumor that that was why the couple had yet to be blessed with children, though the connection wasn’t entirely clear to Gwyneira. True, one did stop using old studs too… She giggled when she pictured Diana’s stiff husband Jeffrey with Cesar the ram, which her father had just removed from stud duty against his will.
    And then there was Larissa’s husband, Julius. Although he came from one of the best noble families, he was dreadfully colorless. Gwyneira remembered how her father had furtively murmured something about “incest” after their first meeting. At least Julius and Larissa already had a son, but he looked like a ghost. No, those were not the sorts of men Gwyneira dreamed of. Were the offerings overseas any better? This Gerald Warden made a lively impression, though he was too old for her, of course. But he knew his way around a horse, and he hadn’t offered to help her into the saddle. Did women in New Zealand ride like men without reprimand? Gwyneira caught herself dreaming from time to time over the servants’ novellas. What might it really be like to racehorses with one of those dashing American cowboys? To watch him in a pistol duel, heart pounding? And the pioneer women over there in the West even reached for guns themselves! Gwyneira would have chosen a fort surrounded by Indians to Diana’s rose garden any day.
    She finally forced herself into her corset, which she tied more tightly than the old thing she wore when riding. She hated this torture, but when she looked at herself in the mirror she did like her extremely thin waist. Neither of her sisters was as petite as she was. And her sky-blue velvet dress suited her quite brilliantly. It made her eyes look more radiant and emphasized the luminous red of her hair. What a shame that she had to pin it up. And how troublesome for the maid, who stood waiting nearby with comb and barrettes. Gwyneira’s hair was naturally curly; when there was moisture in the air—as there almost always was in Wales—it frizzed and proved especially difficult to tame. Often she had to sit still for hours before her maid had completely subdued it. And for Gwyneira, sitting still was harder than anything.
    Sighing, Gwyneira sat down at her dressing chair and steeled herself for a dull half hour. Then a nondescript paperback lying on the dressing table caught her eye.
In the Hands of the Redskins
read the lurid title.
    “I thought my lady might wish for a little diversion,” commented the young maid and smiled at Gwyneira in the mirror. “But it’s really very scary. Sophie and me couldn’t sleep the whole night after we’d read it to each other!”
    Gwyneira had already reached for the paperback. She wasn’t so easily scared.

    Meanwhile, Gerald Warden was bored in the salon, where the gentlemen were having a drink before dinner. Terence Silkham had introduced Gerald to his son-in-law, Jeffrey Riddleworth. Lord Riddleworth, Terence Silkham explained, had served in the Indian Crown Colony and had returned to England highly decorated for his services there just two years before. Diana Silkham was his second wife, the firsthaving died in India. Gerald did not dare ask what of, but he was nearly certain that the lady had died of neither malaria nor a snakebite—that is, unless she had possessed a great deal more vim and vigor than her spouse. Jeffrey Riddleworth, in any event, seemed never to have left regimental quarters during his entire posting in India. He couldn’t say anything about the country beyond the fact that it was loud and dirty outside of the English sanctuaries. He thought the natives were all beggars, the maharajahs above all, and everything beyond city limits was infested with snakes and tigers.
    “Once we even had a keelback in our quarters,” Jeffrey Riddleworth explained with disgust, twirling his well-groomed mustache. “I shot the beast straightaway, of course, although some coolie said it wasn’t poisonous. But, I ask you, can you trust these people? What’s it like where you are, Warden? Do your servants