In the Land of the Long White Cloud

couldn’t bear the sight of blood. Forthat reason, it hadn’t been the older Warden’s best idea to make cattle breeding Lucas’s primary responsibility. In James’s opinion, the management of the fields would have suited Lucas a great deal more. Obviously Lucas was better with his head than with his hands, and when it came to calculating returns, fertilizer allocation, and cost-benefit analyses regarding farm machine purchases, he thought in purely profit-oriented terms.
    Lowing animals giving birth, however, robbed Lucas of his composure, and the situation must have come to a head once again that afternoon. Still, it was lucky for Gwyneira. When Gerald unloaded his wrath on Lucas, she was spared. But she was evidently becoming quite good at her role. The guest seemed to be enjoying himself tremendously.
    “Is there something else, McKenzie?” Gerald asked, pouring himself some whiskey.
    “Did you see?” Fleurette asked. “I have shoes on like a princess.”
    James laughed, immediately at ease. “They are very sweet, my lady. But of course you’re always an enchanting sight, regardless of what sort of shoes you’re wearing.”
    Fleurette frowned. “You only say that because you’re not a gentleman,” she declared. “Gentlemen only have respect for a lady when she wears shoes. Mr. Greenwood says.”
    Normally this remark would have amused James, but now his anger surged once again. Who did this fellow think he was, turning his daughter against him? James could hardly control himself.
    “Well, my lady, then takest thou better care to associate with real men instead of bloodless men with big names wearing suits. Since if their respect is tied to shoes, then it’s sure to run out quickly.” He directed his words at the frightened child, but they struck Gwyneira, who was watching her daughter.
    She looked at him, vexed, but James only glowered at her before withdrawing to the stables. Tonight he would help himself to a big slug of whiskey too. She could go ahead and drink wine with her rich fop.

    The meal’s main course consisted of lamb and a sweet potato casserole, which confirmed what George had already observed. Though the maid was now wearing shoes and served flawlessly, honoring tradition was clearly not of the utmost importance to Gwyneira. The maid showed so much respect to the lord of the manor, Gerald Warden, that it almost bordered on fear. The old gentleman clearly had a lively temper; he spoke excitedly, if a little drunkenly, of God and the world and had an opinion on every topic. The young master, Lucas Warden, seemed quiet by comparison, almost as though he were in pain. Whenever his father voiced opinions that he found too radical, it seemed to afflict him physically. Otherwise, Gwyneira’s husband struck him as pleasant and well-bred, the perfect gentleman in every way. Kindly but precisely, he corrected his daughter’s table posture—in fact, he seemed to have a talent for dealing with the child. Fleur did not quarrel with him as she did with her mother. At dinner, Fleur simply spread her napkin properly over her knees and transported the lamb to her mouth with her fork rather than picking it up with her fingers like the merry men in Sherwood Forest. But perhaps this too was the result of Gerald’s presence. In fact, no voices were raised while the old man was present.
    Despite the quiet, George enjoyed himself considerably that evening. Gerald knew how to talk charmingly about farm life, and George confirmed the people’s opinions of him in Christchurch. Old Man Warden certainly knew a great deal about the sheep and wool industry, had caught the right wind with regard to acquiring cattle, and kept his farm in excellent shape. George would have liked to continue chatting with Gwyneira, though, and Lucas did not seem half the bore Peter Brewster and Reginald Beasley had made him out to be. Gwyneira had revealed earlier that her husband had painted the portraits in the salon himself. She made the announcement uncertainly and with a hint of mockery in her voice, but George looked on the paintings with nothing but respect. He would not have identified himself as an art connoisseur but was frequently invited to private viewings and art auctions in London. An artist like Lucas Warden would certainly have found a following there; with a spot of luck, he might even havearrived at fame and fortune. George considered whether it might pay off for him to take a few pieces back to London