IV

Through all the hubbub Sally agonized with shame. She had been so wicked. In the night she had stolen money for Roddy from the housekeeping and sent him away with tears and blessings. “I will write under cover of Jermyn,” said Roddy, who had become such a man all at once that one couldn't protest. And now she was defying the Holy Immolation of Matrimony and Mr Lovel, since Roddy had ordered that papa was to think him dead.

Watching Mr Lovel preparing to think Roddy dead was so difficult that Jermyn, seeing her tending her roses in bright sunlight, was shocked into remembering that Sally was thirty-five—and looked more, egad—while he was barely in the height of his powers. So for the first time he felt pity for her instead of himself (which was quite rejuvenating), and went off so soon and so cheerfully that Sally stood looking after him with hanging hands. It was all over now. Quite over, and Jermyn's face had said it.

Peregrine fulfilled everyone's expectations by forbidding Roddy's name to be mentioned and by publicly announcing Brian as his heir. Brian, now in the shipyard with his long shrewd head and dandy ways, would help keep Lovel fortunes together until Jerry went to Canterbury next year with Hew and Tiffany, said Mr Lovel, dealing out his belongings like kings and jacks.

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Jerry was willing. He haunted the stock-markets and could talk sheep with anyone. Although (since Eriti had sisters) it would not be safe to send him to stupid John, thought Peregrine, promenading with Sally in the Gardens where, despite poverty, gentlemen's fashionable loose trousers seemed also to be contemplating crinoline at no distant date. He could not let his house in these days, and Caroline at least served to keep the moth out, he felt, seeing her advancing with a daughter on either side. The moth (it seemed) had got instead into Sophy and Maria, who now wore Caroline's cast-offs, so that Jermyn called them her garb and garbage. “But as Lady Lovel it is my duty to have the best of everything; and since Roddy is gone should not Linda's son be heir? There is such a thing as Salic law,” said Caroline, feeling very convincing.

“Poor Lord Calthorpe is certain he'll be killed this time,” Caroline told Sally. Now that he was Darien's husband Calthorpe seemed to expect Fate to take special interest in him; but Caroline was more interested in hearing that Nick Flower had returned for the next meeting of the Council and intended to veto the grant for the Harbour Board.

Mr Flower, retorted Peregrine, was not the whole Provincial Council, and since he never chose to attend meetings he could not expect consideration.

Yet, for all Peregrine's elegance and eyeglass, he felt unhappy under Nick Flower's keen amused look when they met in the Council. Last time I saw you you were not so sure of yourself, it said. Nick Flower was apparently sure of himself. Vastly different from the civil trader of Kororareka, this prosperous bearded giant, pouring contempt on pioneers for their treatment of the Maoris, their imbecility in the papers (where the Maoris read every word), their horse-racing and regattas and petty squabbles, while every native in the country was working like the deuce to prepare for war.

Town Councils, said Flower, who seemed to have page 280 gained so much in size and vituperation, were merely tinkling symbols of inefficiency. Provincial Councils were a collection of rank individualists who never had the sense to get together and vote a reserve for the war which was certainly coming. They had allowed private trading vessels to smuggle ammunition to the Maoris for years….

Peregrine could scarcely believe it. The unparalleled impudence of this attack was too much. He rose to say that Mr Flower knew very well where suspicion lay in that matter.

“I know a good deal, as you are aware,” said Flower, coolly. Peregrine quaked, fearing that he would tell it. Good God, thought Peregrine, why didn't I simply choke Caroline instead of going to Flower on an affair so private, so sacred.

“If there has been smuggling, Mr Flower….”

“Come, come, don't be so uncivil as to pull the wool over these gentlemen's eyes, Mr Lovel. You know there has.” Flower was enjoying himself. A lost belief in saints left nothing to reverence, and Lovel's wife was probably very happy down her underground ways. Life was a witches' sabbath, and the god of vengeance the only real god, and since he needed Lovel's scanty boat-services no longer it was well to establish his integrity in the eyes of councillors who might prove useful when war came. This was the devil's unfailing joke … run with the hare, hunt with the hounds, keep a sharp eye over the shoulder for snapping jaws, thought Flower, contentedly watching Peregrine trying to snap and making rather a botch of it, since he was clearly afraid to provoke Flower too far. One slip, thought Peregrine, nearly frantic, can put one at a man's mercy for ever.

Councillors (so used to personal attacks) were amused but suspicious. Certainly there had been smuggling. Certainly it would be vastly dangerous if it continued during war. Certainly Mr Lovel had been the first to start regular trading down the coasts…. They agreed to look into the matter and went on to other pressing page 281 business, with Peregrine summoning all his forces to give efficient help, and Flower presently lounging away.

There would be some bungling kind of an inquiry, which wouldn't get anyone anywhere. But it would do Lovel harm, and his manner to-day would do him more. Some moral cowardice in Lovel had forced him to share suspicion of his wife with another. It would force him into other mistakes yet.