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Promenade

III

III

Since military advancement was still by purchase, Lord Calthorpe never expected to rise above a captaincy. But departing relatives sometimes show unwarranted belief that those left behind may yet shed glory on an ancient name and mention such belief in their wills. So one bequest had made Calthorpe a major, and another would rent and furnish a house when they needed it, said Darien. She was showing such unexpected shrewdness in money matters that Calthorpe didn't fear the return to the neighbourhood of Nick Flower and his I.O.U.'s.

“My lady holds the purse,” he would say, turning Flower over to Darien. And then there'd be no more talk of exposure or he was a Dutchman. Darien knew her mind—and Calthorpe's too, egad, thought Calthorpe, sometimes very irate with Darien for poking her nose in. But when the witch came sitting on his knee, curling his hair into ringlets and tying it up with her ribbons, he'd give her his head if she wanted it—which she didn't, her own being such a doosed sight better.

“Damn it, I won't have you makin' a fool of me, you huzzy,” he protested.

“I couldn't,” said Darien, feeling quite truthful for once. But Calthorpe was so easily managed. And Hobart and Sydney (so gay) were easily managed too. Now she was back to manage Auckland. A charming little house in Official Bay was ready for Calthorpe almost before he had finished hearing the news up at the barracks.

“Same old game,” they told him at the barracks, sitting moodily over their wine. Still diddling and daddling about after the Maoris, who had grown even more trucu- page 219 lent since Gore Browne (with a fringe of white hair in the creases of his fat neck) had replaced Wynyard. A regular procession of governors, like geese flying away for the winter, and none of 'em able to stay the course, complained O'Reilly, very bitter at missing the Crimea. And the rum nowadays would burn a hole in your waistcoat. But there was this new whisky, and the Auckland Hotel had one bar in Queen Street and another in High, so if Calthorpe would come along O'Reilly would introduce him.

Calthorpe went, praying that he wouldn't meet Nick Flower before Darien did. Nor did he, since Flower was already in her drawing-room, waiting for her. A bit hugger-mugger, the drawing-room, as one would expect with Darien; and as different from Mrs Lovel's clear sweet chintzes and water-colours and slim flowers in crystal vases as brilliant cushions and hangings, a huge oil-painting of Darien over the mantel, brass pots catching the sun, and endless other things catching the eye could make it.

What wouldn't this determined bower-bird collect for her nest, thought Flower, wondering if he too was to be collected by a radiant Darien running in with a dip and swing of the new fashionable crinoline which made women look like inverted wine-glasses. But no amount of inverting was likely to lessen Darien's heady wine, and Nick Flower and his hold over that fool Calthorpe had to be attended to without delay.

She had her opening greeting all ready, but it never came out. Instead, she stopped with a shock of bewilderment. He wasn't Sir John, but he looked … moved…. “You're a Lovel!” she shrieked at him. “You are! Don't tell me you're not. It's sticking out all over you.”

Flower told her nothing, looking at her with his half-closed keen eyes.

“Good Lord!” said Darien, plumping into a chair and fanning herself. “Let me get my breath. You've been a page 220 Lovel all the time and I never knew.” What opportunities have I wasted, she thought, diving wildly back into the past. But there must be plenty left.

“You have Sir John's way of moving and your hair grows back from your forehead like Jermyn's,” she said, dissecting him while under the tight saffron bodice with its lace fichu her heart was galloping. How much was this going to mean? “Why didn't I see it before?” she lamented.

“No one has seen it before,” said Flower, not knowing if he were pleased or not. Denial was useless with Darien, who'd swear that water ran backward if she chose.

“I suppose old Sir Roderick didn't marry your mother,” she said, reflecting. “That must be it. You'd have claimed the relationship if you'd been legitimate. What a pity. You'd have made a much better baronet than Farmer John.”

“Or Peregrine,” said Flower, sitting down. No one could come within Darien's orbit and remain unstimulated.

“He's Lord High Muck-a-Muck already. He don't want another title. I vow I've never been so excited,” cried Darien, beginning to see her way now. “So we're practically related, ain't we? I wouldn't mind letting you help me out of a hole now.”

Flower threw back his head and laughed as he hadn't laughed in a long time. Was there anything this cheerful young pirate couldn't turn to advantage?

“Did you ever mind?” he asked. “What hole d'you want to be helped out of to-day?” But Darien knew better than to walk into nets herself. She was weaving them. “A lady goes to her husband when she's in a hole, sir.”

“To other people's husbands, Darien. Don't pretend to be stupid.”

“Are you a husband?” asked Darien, considering him. Not a preux chevalier, this, with ladies' tresses in his fob. page 221 Scalps of men, more likely. A foeman worthy of any man's steel, any woman's sharp needle, she felt, looking at his hard amused face.

“Well, Maori women are generally too courteous to be insistent on it.”

“Have you no shame? And all your smuggling, too.”

“Lots of fun in smuggling. Eh, Darien?”

“How should I know?” He wasn't going to carry the war into her country. “You wouldn't like the Lovels to know you're related,” she said.

“They wouldn't like it,” said Nick Flower with his harsh laugh.

“You wouldn't either. Rather horrid to have no name, I should think. I suppose you wouldn't be allowed to sign documents and things? Probably you can't prove you've ever been born.”

Flower was silent. In this pettifogging little town stiff with English tradition and etiquette who knew what folk would do. Turn him out of the Council, possibly. Certainly out of their houses. Then down would come baby, cradle, and all, just as he was getting a footing. The sun, edging to the West, came suddenly pouring over Darien, making a bright jewel of her in the midst of her rococo setting. A canary in a gilt cage hung in the window began to sing …and the delicate sensuality of ladies' gear had always made such a special appeal to the lusty male in Nick Flower.

“Oh, hell,” he said, sincerely, “why didn't you marry me, Darien? We could have run New Zealand between us.”

“That would have been nice.” Darien sighed. Very nice it would have been to run New Zealand with Nick Flower, to have money in her purse instead of bills. “I suppose you can't lend me fifty pounds?” she asked.

He sprang up with a furious curse that tingled her ears.

“No, damn you I won't. Make what mischief you like, page 222 you little devil, but you can't blackmail me,” he said, black as thunder.

“I've always known that or I would have tried it long ago,” said Darien simply.

He stood staring down, his frown growing slowly to a grin. She was so pink and white and young and pretty with her ridiculous spread skirts (of richer material now), her little round waist that he could span with his two hands. He had an insane desire to do it.

“No. I won't lend you fifty pounds,” he said doggedly.

“Oh, well, I didn't really expect you would,” said Darien regretfully. “For of course I could never pay you back. Men always expect to be paid back, and women never have anything to pay with.”

He reddened, his eyes taking a suspicious look. Was she hinting? But Darien never hinted, and what she said was quite true. Heaven pity women who have nothing but their virtue to pay their debts with.

“What do you want it for, Darien?” he asked, comradely, sitting down again….

Calthorpe came in presently, somewhat flustered over greeting Flower, and then going to sit on the arm of Darien's chair, taking her hand. For protection, thought Flower, grimly. Darien would protect Calthorpe just as she'd protect her ox and her ass and anything else that was hers.

Going away, Flower felt a glow of pleasure that Darien had claimed relationship; but turning Calthorpe's unredeemed notes out of an iron-bound box that evening he shook his head. Darien wouldn't consider Nick Flower hers to the extent of protecting him.