In the Land of the Long White Cloud

as I did. The girls cannot simply walk away from those. And we’d be in hot water if we then gave them jobs ourselves! I’m sorry, love, but the girls have to find their own way to survive. Though after everything you’ve told me,” Mrs. Godewind turned to Helen, “I wouldn’t worry too much about little Daphne. She’ll slog her way through. But the twins…oh, it’s so sad. Pour us another cup of tea, Elizabeth. Then let’s say a prayer for them; perhaps God will take up their cause.”
    But God was shuffling the cards for Helen as she sat in Mrs. Godewind’s cozy salon, enjoying cookies from Mr. and Mrs. McLaren’s bakery. Vicar Chester was waiting for her with great anticipation in front of the Baldwins’ house when Jones held the door open for Helen to get out.
    “Now where were you, Miss Davenport? I had almost given up hope of being able to introduce you today. You look beautiful—as if you’d sensed it! Now come in quickly. Mr. O’Keefe is waiting for you in the salon.”

    The front door of Kiward Station led into a spacious entrance hall where guests could set down their things and ladies could fix their hair. Gwyneira was amused when she noticed a mirrored cabinet with the requisite silver tray for calling cards. Who announced their presence here so formally? No guests would ever come here without notice, and certainly no strangers. And if a stranger did happen to wander in here, did Lucas and his father really wait until the housemaid had told Witi, who would then inform the masters of the house? Gwyneira thought of the farming families who had rushed out of their homes just to watch strangers ride past and the Beasleys’ obvious excitement at their visit. Nobody had asked for their cards there. The exchange of calling cards might even have been unknown to the Maori. Gwyneira wondered how Gerald had explained it to Witi.
    Beyond the entrance hall was a still sparsely furnished parlor—this too had without question been modeled after British manor houses. Guests could wait here in comfort until the lord of the manor found time for them. A fireplace and a buffet with a covered tea set were at hand; Gerald had suitable chairs and sofas among his luggage. It would look lovely, but what purpose it would serve remained a mystery to Gwyneira.
    The Maori girl, Kiri, led her rapidly through to the salon, which was already amply furnished with old, heavy English furniture. Were it not for the Dutch door that led to a large terrace, it would have looked almost gloomy. It was not modeled on the latest fashion; the furnishings and carpets in here were antiques. Perhaps part of Lucas’s mother’s trousseau? If so, her family must have had a fortune. But that stood to reason too. Gerald might be a successful sheep breeder now, but before that he was just a swashbuckling sailor and the canniestcard player ever to come out of the whale hunting colonies. But to build a house like Kiward Station in the middle of the wilderness, you needed more money than what could be earned from whales or sheep. Mrs. Warden’s inheritance had undoubtedly contributed.
    “Are you coming, miss?” Kiri asked amiably, but somewhat concerned. “I should you help but make tea too and serve. Moana no good with tea. Is better, we done before drops she cup.”
    Gwyneira laughed. She couldn’t hold that against Moana.
    “I’ll be pouring the tea today,” she explained to the astonished girl. “It’s an old English custom. I’ve been practicing for years. It’s one of the skills that’s absolutely necessary to find a husband.”
    Kiri looked at her frowning. “You ready for husband when make tea? For us is important first bleeding.”
    Gwyneira reddened at once. How could Kiri talk so openly about something so unspeakable? Then again, Gwyneira was thankful for any information she could get. The monthly bleeding was a precondition for a marriage—it was no different in her culture. Gwyneira still remembered distinctly how her mother had sighed when it had happened to her. “Oh, dearie,” she had said, “now the curse has struck you too. We’ll have to start looking for a husband for you.”
    No one had ever explained to the girl how it was all connected. Gwyneira suppressed the urge to giggle when she thought of the face her mother would make at such a question. When Gwyneira had brought up possible parallels to dogs in heat, Lady Silkham had asked for her smelling salts and retired to her room for the rest of the