A white picket fence stood between Emma Rollins and her childhood home, one of the few built in the Mount Victoria area. Unlike the more stately homes of Thorndon situated near the new Parliament buildings, this was a new frontier for Wellington, wealthy, affluent, and influential. By all standards, the house was modern, built-in native timber fashioned after the brick building of Mother England while surrendering to the country's constraints. But, of course, the continuous earthquakes would destroy a brick building, and the timber construction would flex and give under pressure. Nevertheless, the carpenters had done a magnificent job. The fence pickets were simple arrow shapes with a three-leaf clover pattern carved into each picket head. And painted gleaming white, with a velvet feel, the glossy effect contrasting the red roses in the garden beyond.
The sunlight shone through the fence, casting shadows, like prison bars, on the roses allowing their sweet smell to escape into the beautiful autumn morning. Taking a moment to stand and reflect even saver the feast for the senses. After all that had happened, she couldn't help but think that the fence and the house imprisoned the beauty of the flowers, as they had her for so many years. Before her escape and rise to her current position, what had become her preferred society that was more honest than awaited her inside the house. Emma stood for just a few more minutes taking deep breaths, straightening her dress and dark hair, and ensuring that her hat was secure. Although the tan of her skin would lead anyone to believe she has recently been in the island nations, not England, at a finishing academy
She was looking at her companion, a man whose face had been beaten by wind and time and the outcome of more than one night's drinking that had ended in the phrase. "Well, lar-de-dar, then take this cobber!". His bowler hat sat above his dark brown sideburns, holding the worn and dented garment in place above his forehead. The sideburns were almost a structural support whose only purpose was to be a home for his hat and goggles.
"Well, Mr. Wolf, it's time to play lady for the family," she said.
"I could kill 'em if' n it would help?" he replied. Emma scanned his face for signs of humor, and finding none, she smiled and replied, "Not today. But, we should have a signal for that, should it ever be needed… Sometime in the future."
Behind them, a town car swooshed, releasing a head of steam. The driver forced more water from the tank into the wood-fired boiler with an audible leaver crank, forcing the vehicle to slow and jerk forward.
Approaching the house, the door opened, and a tall round man stepped out and looked at her, the spark of recognition igniting in his eyes, followed by a beaming smile he carried the deportment of a butler only reinforced by the dark waistcoat and stiff white collar.
"Miss Rollins, we have missed you. It has been too long," the man said.
"It is good to be home, Duncan," she replied as she passed him her parasol and gloves. Duncan, in turn, leaned to one side, looking behind Emma, and clicked his tongue a few times.
"You have been followed by one of those dammed beggars from Cuba Street warehouses." Whispered Duncan.
"You there!" Duncan shouted at the man, waved his free white-gloved hand palm down, and repeatedly flicked his fingers.
"We've nothing for you; get yourself back down the hill." Duncan issued the command, articulating each word, not with the British accent he had been using but in the higher local tones and flattened vowel sounds familiar to the working suburbs. Duncan looked at Mr. Wolf, standing just to the left and behind Emma. Mr. Wolf, in turn, stood passively and stared straight ahead, blinked twice, and twisted his body to see this new entrant. Who, he felt, must be approaching from behind him, and seeing no one, turned back to look at the butler in the doorway and again blinked twice, taking one of his hands from the pants pockets where it had been resting, moving it behind his back and under his jacket.
"He. Is with me," Emma said.
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"Really! Is it a bit rough? What would you want it for?" Duncan asked.
"He is quite useful for a few things. And for one or two singular talents, he is unparalleled." Emma continued to look at the man slightly shorter than her 5 foot 11. inches.
"I am?!" Mr. Wolf affirmed and questioned with a single eyebrow lift.
"Very well. Your father has several servants in service. If you would like, we can release this one back into the wild and replace that with one." Duncan replied.
"Are my parents in the study?" Emma asked, ending the line of inquiry. Duncan turned to allow Emma to pass and, at the same time, looked back directly at Mr Wolf.
"Round the back to the service entrance; go on, hop it." He said, jerking his free hand up to and over his shoulder with his thumb extended. Emma entered the house without looking back to see if Mr. Wolf was following; he would always be where she needed him most.
"Yes, Miss, your Mother is," Duncan paused.
"She would not like that your servant has ignored protocol and entered with you," Duncan said, looking towards Mr. Wolf, who continued to stand at Emma's side.
"It will be fine, Duncan. There will not be a kerfluffle." Emma responded, reaching for the door only to stop herself. Duncan moved to the door, placed his gloved hand on the door nob, and froze momentarily.
"Miss, there is news. Your brother. He is missing. But, unfortunately, we know little of what has happened," Duncan said, turning his head and gazing down toward the floor.
"Will the gentlemen enter with you?" Duncan continued, not waiting for a response.
Without turning or looking at Mr. Wolf, she replied, "No. He will wait here."
"Was that the signal?" Mr. Wolf muttered to himself, chortling.
Duncan opened the door to the study, stepped over the threshold, and announced, "Miss Emma Rollins." At that queue, an elderly woman looked up from her seated position. Her dress was full and hid any obvious attributes of her body, but her jaw was strong, and her neck was long. She returned her cards to a table, a honey-colored kauri wood common to the New Zealand dominion, reaching out to Emma to take her by the hand while remaining in her chair.
"Darling, how wonderful to see you. How were your journies in our wonderful England? Do come here to me." the woman asked and stated in one heightened tone.
"Mother, is Kincade missing?" asked Emma, seeking confirmation of Duncan's news and ignoring the question.
"It would appear so. But that is no excuse for poor etiquette, my dear. You really are the black sheep of the family." Mrs. Rollins replied, reaching out to take and slap Emma's hand in response to her approach.
"Honestly, the amount of money your father paid for your education. I despair at the lack of good breading in this heathen land, will ever be quashed." Mrs. Rollins continued ignoring her guests in her musing.
"I want you to meet Kincade's fiancée Amelia Johnson-James," said Mrs. Rollins, making a sweeping gesture at a woman seated across from her.
Ignoring Emma's question in favor of her own evolving melodrama. Like Emma, the woman who was the object of the drama, was in her late twenties. Emma noted her slight frame. She could be called a skeletal, with a lovely dress of blue silks and blonde hair tied in a bun. Emma noted that the woman was pretty but only wore an engagement ring, so like Emma, looking through her mother's eyes for a moment, she was far too old not to have made a good match.
"Pleased to meet you," Amelia said to Emma. Emma looked back to her mother, her eyes wide and mouth open in disbelief.
"Wonderful to meet you, Amelia," Emma said. "Do you know where my brother was last seen"?
"Harry. Oh, forgive me, the industrialist Harold McCabe said he was having supper with him at the Tinkers Club. They were working on his inventions. No one has seen him since. It has been two days," Amelia replied, genuine concern in her voice and eyes.
"Mother, where is Father?" Emma asked.
"Christchurch. He's advising on the correct architectural approach for what will be a great and possibly historic building," Mrs. Rollins replied.
"Well, then. It's to The Tinkers Club, for me," Emma said.
"Nonsense and bother, you shall have a pleasant cup of tea and a game of cards with us here. The menfolk have their ways and will return with a plausible explanation in due course. They always do." Mrs. Rollins stated. At which time, both of the younger women looked first, and Mrs Rollins and then at each other.
"Please, Emma, would you allow me to accompany you? I am terribly worried about my beloved, and I cannot sit and wait any longer for news," Amelia pleaded. Emma momentarily looked at Amelia, then called out, "Mr. Wolf!"
Seconds later, a thud was heard, and the door swung open. Mr. Wolf was in the doorway with an oversized meat cleaver in one hand and a small plate with a piece of cake in the other. Duncan could be seen behind him with a shocked look on his face, mouth gaping open, which he was partially covered with a hand.
"Not the signal," Emma said calmly.
"We're going on a short trip, and Amelia is coming with us." Emma waved a hand at Amelia. Mrs. Rollins let out a scream of the proper volume and proper length for a person at her station in society. Then as one should in such a situation fainted, back in her chair.