In the Land of the Long White Cloud

day.
    Gwyneira looked around for Cleo, who naturally had been following her. Kiri seemed to find that strange but said nothing.
    A wide, winding staircase led up to the family’s living quarters. To Gwyneira’s surprise, her rooms were already completely furnished.
    “Room supposed to be for wife of Mr. Warden,” Kiri enlightened her. “But then died. Room always empty. But now young master make ready for you!”
    “Lucas prepared these rooms for me?” Gwyneira asked, amazed.
    Kiri nodded. “Yes. Picked out furniture from storage and sent for…how you say? Linen for window…?”
    “Drapes, Kiri,” Gwyneira helped her, unable to shake her astonishment. The late Mrs. Warden’s furniture was made of light-colored wood, and the rugs had retained their colors of old rose, beige, and blue. To go with them, Lucas or someone else had chosen old rose silk curtains with a blue-beige border and tastefully hung them in front of her windows and around her bed. The bedsheets were made of snow-white linen, and a blue bedspread made the bed look cozy. Next to the bedroom were a dressing room and a small salon; this too had been tastefully furnished with small chairs, a tea table, and a small sewing cabinet. The usual little silver frames, candleholders, and bowls adorned the mantelpiece. A daguerreotype of a thin, light-haired woman had been placed in one of the frames. Gwyneira took the picture in her hands and looked at it more closely. Gerald hadn’t been exaggerating. His late wife had been a perfect beauty.
    “You change now, miss?” Kiri pressed.
    Gwyneira nodded and set about unpacking her suitcase with the Maori girl. Kiri took out Gwyneira’s holiday and afternoon dresses, full of reverence for the fine material.
    “So beautiful, miss! So smooth and soft. But you thin, miss. Not good for having babies!”
    Kiri didn’t mince words. Gwyneira explained to her with a smile that she wasn’t really so thin but owed her appearance to her corset. For the silk dress that she picked out, the corset would have to be tied even more tightly. Kiri worked diligently as Gwyneira showed her the grips but was clearly afraid of hurting her new mistress.
    “Don’t worry about that, Kiri, I’m used to it,” Gwyn groaned. “My mother liked to say: you have to suffer for beauty.”
    Kiri seemed to understand for the first time. With a bashful laugh, she touched her tattooed face. “I see. Is like
moku
, yes? But every day again!”
    Gwyneira nodded. In principle, she was right. Her wasp waist was just as painful and unnatural as Kiri’s permanent face art. Here in New Zealand Gwyneira meant to relax the custom a bit. One of the girls would have to learn to let her clothing out, but then shewouldn’t need to punish herself by tightening the cords so much to get into them. And after she was pregnant…
    Kiri was an able help in getting her into her dress but had some difficulties with her hair. Untangling Gwyneira’scurls was a difficult task and putting them up even more so. Kiri had obviously never done it before. Gwyneira ended up lending an energetic hand, and while the result didn’t exactly meet the art of the coiffure’s strict standards and Helen would no doubt have found it horrifying, Gwyneira thought it charming. They had managed to tie up most of her red-golden tresses; the few strands that escaped on their own despite their efforts played around her face, making her features appear softer and more girlish. Gwyneira’s skin shone after the ride in the sun, and her eyes flashed with anticipation.
    “Has Lucas returned?” she asked Kiri.
    The girl shrugged. How should she know? After all, she had been with Gwyneira the whole time.
    “So what is Lucas like, Kiri?” Gwyneira knew her mother would have upbraided her sharply for this question: one didn’t ask the help to gossip about their employers. But Gwyneira couldn’t help herself.
    Kiri raised her shoulders and eyebrows, which looked humorous.
    “The young master? Don’t know. Is
pakeha
. For me all the same.” The Maori girl had apparently never considered her employers’ defining characteristics. She thought about it a little harder when she noticed Gwyneira’s disappointed expression. “The young master…is nice. Never scream, never angry. Nice. Only little thin.”

2
    H elen hardly grasped what was going on, but she couldn’t put off her first meeting with Howard O’Keefe any longer. Nervously she smoothed her dress and ran a hand