Snare of Serpents

Outward Bound

THE TIME for our departure was approaching. In less than a week we were to sail. Acting on the advice of Mrs. Crown, we had sent the bulk of our luggage to the docks; and after the harassed preparations of the last few days we had come to a lull when there seemed to be nothing to do.

Lilias and I were sitting in the garden going over, for at least the hundredth time, all the things we had to do before we left, asking ourselves if we had packed all we needed in the little luggage we were taking with us. We were to leave the vicarage the day before we sailed, spending a night in a hotel near the docks which Mrs. Crown had arranged for us. Zillah had been helpful and had sent those possessions which I had wanted to take with me straight to the docks; this was a great help and it had meant that I had not had to return to Edinburgh which would have been very painful for me.

Now everything was settled and there was nothing to do but wait.

As we sat there Jane came out.

“There’s a young man who has called to see you, Diana,” she said. “His name is Mr. Grainger.”

I felt myself flush. I was tingling with pleasure. All I could say was: “Oh … so he’s come …”

Lilias, to whom I had talked of him and confessed something of my feelings for him, and who, perhaps, guessed a little more, said: “He’ll want to talk to you. I’ll go in.” Then: “Bring him out, Jane. They can talk in the garden. It’s pleasant out here.”

Ninian came to me and, taking both my hands in his, held them firmly.

“I felt I had to come and see you before you left,” he said.

“That is very good of you.”

“It’s a big step you are taking.”

“Let’s sit down. A big step? Yes. But we have thought a good deal about it and in the circumstances it seems a good thing.”

“I’m so glad Miss Milne is going with you.”

“Yes, that is a great piece of luck for me.”

“Tell me about this Mr. Lestrange.”

“He’s a friend of the Ellingtons who live in the big house here. He’s engaged in big business and I think Mr. Ellington has some connections in it. I don’t really know much about it. But I expect it has something to do with diamonds. He lives in Kimberley, you see, and when he came over Myra Ellington and he fell in love and married.”

“It sounds like a whirlwind romance.”

“It was. He was a widower. I gathered his wife died … not long ago. He probably came to England to get away from it all … and he met Myra Ellington.”

“So it all turned out well for him.”

“The fact of the matter is that they are going back to Kimberley. I believe they will actually be sailing on the same ship.”

“I’d like to meet Mr. and Mrs. Lestrange.”

“I don’t suppose you will. Are you going back tomorrow?”

“I thought I’d come and see you off.”

“Oh!” I was amazed but inordinately pleased. I kept thinking how strange it was that he should continue to show such interest. I had told myself many times that it was because I was still smarting from Jamie’s rejection … but it was something beyond that. I hated to confess it, but one of the reasons why I regretted leaving England was because I should never see him again. That was quite foolish, I knew; I constantly reminded myself that all I meant to him was an interesting case which had brought him quite useful success.

“I’ve booked in at the Royal Oak,” he said. “I thought I could travel down to Tilbury with you and be of some help.”

“What a lovely idea! But can you spare the time?”

“Just about,” he said.

“Are you comfortable at the Royal Oak?”

“Very comfortable.”

“That’s good, because it is the only hotel around here.”

“I’m glad it’s so near. Tell me about the school.”

“I don’t know much except what I have told you already. I am sure we shall be able to manage all right. Lilias is a wonderful teacher, and I shall try to follow in her footsteps.”

“And this has all come about through Mr. Lestrange. What do you know of him?”

“Only what I’ve told you. He’s engaged in the diamond business; he’s apparently wealthy; he’s a widower with a son named Paul; he is considered to be very attractive and is a good match for Myra Ellington.”

“What about Myra herself?”

“I don’t know much about her either. She is very pleasant and quiet … not like her mother. She’s very good at … doing what she is told. I could never understand why she has not married long ago. I should not have thought Mrs. Ellington would have been the sort of woman to allow her daughter to remain unmarried. But I suppose most of them want to ensure their daughters’ financial security … and with Myra, Mrs. Ellington does not have to consider this. It seems that she is quite well off in her own right.”

“Perhaps I shall meet them.”

“Perhaps. But everyone’s very busy. Mrs. Crown has been very good. She has arranged everything for us. We are spending our last night in England in a hotel called Harbour View, which speaks for itself, and we shall be right on the spot for the day we sail.”

“I’ll book in there.”

I must have shown my surprise, for he said: “I feel responsible for you! After all, I introduced you to Mrs. Crown.”

“It was the best thing you could have done.”

“I do hope so,” he said fervently.

Daisy came out with some coffee.

“Miss Jane thought you could do with this,” she said.

There was a small table under a tree and she set the tray on this; and we drew up our chairs.

“This is delightful,” said Ninian.

I was happier than I had been for a long time—just for a moment; then the thought hit me: I am going right away … out of the old life … out of his life.

He watched me as I poured out the coffee. I wondered what he was thinking and what had really prompted him to come so far to see me before I left.

He said suddenly: “If this should not work out … if you should want to come home for any reason … let me know. I’ll do what I can to arrange it.”

“You are so good. And all because you defended me. There must be so many …”

He shook his head. “It was unfair, that verdict. It rankles.”

“I see.”

“One day perhaps …”

I waited and he shrugged his shoulders. “It has happened, you know. The truth comes out, even after years.”

Then we talked of those young women who, as Lilias and I were doing, had left their homes to go away and work in foreign countries. I told him about the letters we had read in the Society’s offices. He was very interested, but he kept bringing the conversation back to Roger Lestrange.

He stayed to dinner. It was clear to me that he had made a good impression on the vicarage family.

Lilias said, after he had left for the Royal Oak: “What a charming man! It is so kind of him to care about what happens to you.”

I was very happy that night. I dreamed that I was sailing away from England, and Ninian Grainger was standing on the dock watching. Then suddenly he lifted his arms and cried loudly: “Don’t go! Don’t go!”

I knew that I must not go, that it was wrong for me to go. I tried to leap overboard, but someone was restraining me, saying: “You can’t go back. None of us can go back. It’s too late … once you’ve started.”

And that was Roger Lestrange.

THE NEXT DAY my pleasure in Ninian Grainger’s care was dampened.

It was in the morning. Daisy came to my room and said: “There’s a visitor for you, Miss Grey. In the sitting room.”

I went down, expecting to see Ninian. It was Zillah.

She looked even more beautiful than I remembered. She was dressed in a black silk dress with a big green bow at the neck and a black hat with a green feather which tipped down to her eyes, calling attention to their colour.

“My dear!” she cried, embracing me. “How wonderful to see you! I had to come. I’m going to see you off. I’m staying at the Royal Oak.”

“Oh,” I said blankly.

She laughed almost coyly. “Who do you think is staying there? Your Mr. Grainger. Well, it’s the only one, isn’t it? And I couldn’t expect to be put up at the vicarage. I hope you’re pleased to see me. I’m not really very happy about all this, you know. You’ll be so far away. I had hoped we could be together. Oh, I do hope this is going to be the right thing for you.”

“I had to get away,” I said. “And this seems as good a method as any.”

“It’s so sad. But I mustn’t go on about it. We’ve got to make the best of things, haven’t we? How have you been getting on in this place? I’m longing to meet your friend, Lilias. I wonder what she’ll feel about me. I took her place, didn’t I … in the house, I mean.”

“You’ll like her. She’s a wonderful person.”

“Oh, I do hope this is going to be all right.”

She meant well, and it was good of her to take the trouble to come. But she had shattered an illusion.

I did not realise until then how deeply I had been affected by “Ninian’s coming here.

I had been very foolish. I had been so stimulated, so happy because I had thought he had been so apprehensive on my account that he had come down to see for himself what was happening. I had had a ridiculous feeling that he was regretting having introduced me to Mrs. Crown and that he was going to beg me to relinquish the project and go back with him to Edinburgh so that we could fight together to prove I had played no part in my father’s murder.

I was naive. I was reaching out for someone to care for me … someone to fill that bitter void left by Jamie.

Face facts, I admonished myself. You are going away … right away from the old life, from everyone you ever knew— except Lilias.

He came because she was coming. You were misled by Jamie once. Be on your guard that it does not happen again.

I saw a good deal of Ninian during the next day. We talked a good deal. I felt that he knew as much about the place to which I was going as I did. Zillah was there, too.

On the morning before the day we were due to leave for Tilbury, I went down to the village to buy a few oddments which I had found I needed and Ninian had said he would accompany me.

Zillah, who happened to arrive at that moment, said she would join us.

It was on our way back from the village that we met Roger Lestrange. He was riding a big grey horse from the Ellington stables and he lifted his hat as we approached.

“Miss Grey. Ah, the last-minute shopping. All ready to sail?”

I introduced them. I could sense Ninian’s interest. He had always wanted to hear all he could about Roger Lestrange.

I noticed that the latter was surveying Zillah with appreciation while she put on that especially seductive air she used for attractive men.

“We are going to see the dear child off on her travels,” said Zillah. “It is going to be very sad for me.”

“I am sure it will be.” He spoke soothingly.

Ninian said: “I understand you are from South Africa.”

“Yes, it’s my home now. I shall be returning to it on the Queen of the South.”

“Oh yes. I understood you would be sailing on her.”

“Shall you be glad to go home?” asked Zillah.

He looked at her almost slyly. “Well, there are temptations to stay, but alas …”

“And you sail … the day after tomorrow, is it? So it is hail and farewell. How sad.”

“I agree … wholeheartedly. Well …” He shrugged his shoulders. “I’ll see you on board, Miss Grey.”

“So that is Roger Lestrange,” said Ninian when he had ridden off.

“He seemed to be a most interesting man,” added Zillah.

Then we rode back to the vicarage and the next day we left for London, Tilbury and the Queen of the South.

As SOON as I stepped on board I felt a sense of irreparable loss. Melancholy took hold of me and I was sure that no exciting new experience could dispel it. This was largely due to having said goodbye to Ninian. I had taken this step and there was no going back.

Ninian and Zillah had travelled to the ship with us. So, Zillah had said, that she could spend every possible moment with me. She constantly expressed her sorrow at my departure, but I could not get rid of the notion that she was rather relieved. Perhaps she was thinking what was best for me and was fully aware that while I remained in England I should be constantly on the alert for someone to recognise me. That was no way to live and a sacrifice was worthwhile to change it.

I had to keep remembering that and then I could be reconciled to leaving everything that was familiar to me and going off into the unknown.

I did have a short time alone with Ninian. I think Lilias helped to arrange this by making sure that she kept Zillah away. My spirits were lifted because I sensed that this was what Ninian wanted, too.

He talked seriously about my future.

“You don’t need to look on it as permanent,” he stressed. “You will come back. But for a time I believe this is the best thing to do. I want you to promise me something.”

“What is that?”

“That you will write to me and tell me everything … however seemingly trivial. I want to know.”

“But surely … ?”

“Please,” he said. “It may be important.”

“Do you still regard me as ‘a case?’ “

“A very special case. Please, I am serious. Give me your word. I know you will keep it.”

“I will write,” I said.

“I shall want to know about the school … and the Lestranges … and how everything works out.”

I nodded. “And you will let me know what happens at home?”

“I will.”

“You sound so serious.”

“It is very important to me. And there is one thing more. If you want to come home, let me know. I will arrange it.”

“You … ?”

“I shall see that you get a passage home at the earliest possible moment. Please remember that.”

“It is comforting to know that you are so concerned about me.”

“Of course I’m concerned about you … Davina.”

I looked at him in alarm.

“I can’t get used to that other name,” he said. “I always think of you as Davina.”

“Well, no one can hear now.”

“One day you will come back.”

“I wonder’”

“You will,” he insisted. “You must.”

I remembered that conversation for days to come and it brought me comfort.

We were on deck as the ship sailed out. The hooters were sounding all round us; the quay was crowded with the friends of passengers come to see the last of them. It was a moving scene. Some people were weeping, others laughing, as slowly the ship glided out of her berth and sailed away.

Lilias and I stood there waving until we could no longer see Ninian and Zillah.

I SHALL NEVER FORGET those first days on the Queen of the South. I had not dreamed of such discomfort. In the first place we had to share a cabin with two others. The cabin was little more than a large cupboard and there were four berths, two lower and two upper. There was one small cupboard for the use of the four occupants and there were no portholes. We were shut in with many other similar cabins and the noises around us never seemed to cease. We were at the after end of the ship and there were barriers to prevent our leaving that section.

Meals were taken at long tables. I suppose the food was adequate, but eating in such conditions was far from pleasant and neither Lilias nor I had much appetite for it.

Our section of the ship was overcrowded. Washing was not easy. There were communal quarters for this and little privacy.

I said to Lilias: “Can you endure this till Cape Town?”

“We must,” she answered.

When the weather turned rough, as it did very soon, this was an added trial.

The two women who shared our cabin were prostrate in their bunks. Lilias felt queasy, too. She could not decide whether to venture out on deck or withdraw to her bunk.

She decided on the latter and I went on deck. I staggered along as far as the segregating barrier and sat down. I looked at the grey heaving waves and wondered what I had let myself into. The future seemed bleak. What should I find in this country to which we were going? I had been a coward. I should have stayed at home and faced whatever I had to. People would say that if I were innocent I should have nothing to fear. I should have held my head high, faced whatever was coming and not hidden behind an assumed name.

And now here I was, in a condition of acute discomfort, being carried over this turbulent sea to … I could not know what.

I was aware of someone on the other side of the barrier.

“Hello,” said Roger Lestrange. He was looking down on me over the top of the fencing which separated us. “Facing the elements?”

“Yes … and you, too?”

“You find this uncomfortable, do you?”

“Yes, don’t you?”

“Mildly. Nothing to what it can do, I assure you.”

“Well, I hope it doesn’t attempt to show me.”

“I didn’t see you when you boarded. You had friends to see you off, I believe.”

“Yes.”

“That was nice. How are you liking the trip … apart from the weather?”

I was silent for a while and he said quickly: “Not good, is it?”

“It’s hardly luxury.”

“I had no idea you would travel in such a way.”

“Nor had we. But we did want to do so as cheaply as possible. Miss Milne has a horror of debt. How is Mrs. Lestrange?”

“Laid low. She does not like the weather.”

“Who does? I am sorry for her.”

“We’ll soon be out of this and then we’ll all forget about it.”

I had been standing up while I was talking to him, and a gust of wind threw me against the deck rail.

“All right?” he asked.

“Yes, thanks.”

“I think you should go below,” he continued. “The wind can be treacherous and one really shouldn’t face the decks when it is like this.” He smiled wryly. “I’m sorry I can’t conduct you to your quarters.”

“You’re right,” I said. “I’ll go down. Goodbye.”

“Au revoir,” he said.

And I staggered down to the cabin.

LATER THAT DAY the wind abated. Lilias and I were alone in the cabin. The other occupants, feeling better, had gone out, as they said, for a breath of fresh air.

One of the stewards came to our cabin.

He said: “I’ve got orders to move you.”

“Move us?” we cried simultaneously.

“Some mistake, I expect. You shouldn’t be in this one. Get your things together.”

Bewildered we obeyed. He took our cases and told us to follow him. We did so and he led us through the ship, opening one of the dividing doors. He took us to a cabin which seemed magnificent after the one we had just left. There were two bunks which served as sofas by day, a fair-sized wardrobe, a washbasin and a porthole.

We stared at it in amazement.

“That’s it,” he said, and left us. We could not believe it. It was such a contrast. Lilias sat down on one of the beds and looked as though she were going to burst into tears, which was extraordinary for her.

“What does it mean?” she demanded.

“It means that they made a mistake. They should never have put us in with the emigrants.”

“But we are emigrants.”

“Yes … but here we are. Isn’t it wonderful? I feel dignified. I don’t think I could have borne much more of that.”

“Yes, you would … if you had to.”

“Well, don’t let’s worry about that. Let’s rejoice.”

“I wonder how it happened,” said Lilias.

“Doubtless we shall hear.”

We did ask the purser, who told us there had been some mistake and we were so relieved we did not take the matter farther than that. All we knew was that we could now continue the rest of the voyage, weather permitting, in a comfort we had not dared hope for.

EVERYTHING CHANGED after that. We were often in the company of the Lestranges; and it was during that voyage that I began to know Myra.

She was a self-effacing person, rather timid, in contrast to her mother. I often wondered whether having spent so much of her life in close contact with such a woman had made her as she was, for in such a presence even the most confident people must be aware of their shortcomings. I grew to like her. She was rather withdrawn in the presence of her husband, and rarely spoke unless addressed. I noticed that he often finished a sentence with “Is that not so, my dear?” as though trying to draw her into the conversation. “Yes, yes, Roger, indeed it is,” she would invariably reply.

“She’s completely subservient,” said Lilias.

“I think she wants to please him. After all, he is always kind and courteous to her.”

“Well, if he likes absolute obedience, she must suit him very well,” was Lilias’ rather terse rejoinder.

Practical Lilias might dismiss her as a woman of no spirit, content to be dominated by her husband, but I saw some character beneath that attitude, and perhaps because she sensed my feelings she revealed a little more of herself to me than she did to most people.

Our first port of call was Tenerife and as it was not easy for two women to go out alone, Roger Lestrange suggested that we accompany him and his wife. We accepted willingly.

We had a pleasant day, and under the guidance of Roger Lestrange went for a ride through the town and some miles out into the country. We revelled in the balmy air and marvelled at the brilliant flowers and shrubs, the poinsettia trees growing wild by the roadside, the banana plantations and the mountains.

Roger Lestrange was an amusing and knowledgeable companion and when we returned to the ship Lilias said how fortunate we were to be travelling with them; and I agreed.

Myra said: “It is a great pleasure to have you with us.” I was glad she felt that as the thought had crossed my mind during the day that we might be intruding. After all, it was not long since their honeymoon, and that was a time when newly wed people liked to be alone together.

As we came down the west coast of Africa the weather was warm, the sea smooth, and life on board was very pleasant indeed. Neither Lilias nor I wanted the days to pass too quickly. After our change of cabin, which had brought us to another part of the ship, we had found the life very congenial. We were meeting people who interested us.

Roger Lestrange was quite sought after. He was an asset to social gatherings; he was on good terms with the captain whom he had met on a previous voyage; and, as his friends, we were drawn into his circle.

It was delightful to sit on deck, to look over the water which scarcely moved, to watch the dolphins sporting in the distance and the flying fish skimming over the surface of that pellucid sea. It was conducive to confidences.

Myra was reluctant to talk, but eventually she began to give me a glimpse into her childhood.

“It would have been different if I had been brilliant,” she said to me one day. “But I wasn’t. I was slow … slow to walk … slow to talk. Right from the beginning I was a disappointment. My mother wanted me to be outstanding … not so much clever as beautiful … a success socially. You know the sort of thing … something she could arrange and then … grandchildren whom she could plan for.”

“People have to manage their own lives.”

“My mother would never accept that. She was so good at managing everything, so naturally she wanted to manage me. I was lucky in one way because there were the grandparents … my father’s parents. I spent a great deal of my childhood with them. I was happy there. They did not care whether I was clever or beautiful. They liked me just as I was. My mother said they spoiled me. She did not want me to be so much with them, but they were important. They were very rich and she respected that.”

“I can well believe it.”

“My grandmother died.” Her voice trembled a little. “I was fourteen then. After that there was just Grandpa. I was often with him. He wanted me to live with him. My mother could not allow that. My place was at home with her, she said; but I was with him a great deal. We used to read together; we would sit in the garden and play guessing games. Then he was in a wheelchair and I used to wheel him about the garden. My mother said it was no life for a girl, but I loved to be with him. I had to have a season in London. My mother insisted and my father agreed with her. The season was a failure. Nobody asked me to marry him. Soon after that my mother gave up. I went to stay with Grandpa. He said, ‘Don’t let them push you. You do what you want. And never marry a man because they tell you you ought to. That’s the biggest mistake a girl can make … or a man for that matter.’ He was wonderful. I was twenty-four when he died.”

“How sad for you.”

“I was heartbroken. I was very rich. He had left everything to me. It made a difference. My mother changed towards me. I knew she thought I should get a husband now, but when she started managing I said to her, ‘Grandpa told me I was never to marry anyone just because people told me to. I was to marry only if I, myself, wanted to.’ “

“I think your grandfather was very wise,” I said.

“Oh, he was. But I’m talking all about myself. What about you?”

That freezing sensation came over me. I heard myself say: “Oh, there’s nothing much to tell. I just had a governess … and then … I went to stay at the vicarage.”

“And your father?”

“He … he died.”

“And now you have to take this post in South Africa?”

“I don’t exactly have to. I just wanted to do something. I have a little income … not a great deal … but adequate, I suppose.”

“Did you ever think of marrying?”

“Well, once. But it didn’t work out.”

“I’m sorry.”

“Don’t be. I’m sure now that it was all for the best.”

“Are you sure? I think you seem a little sad sometimes.”

“Oh no … no. It’s all in the past. Our families didn’t approve and …”

“Oh dear.”

“It would hardly have been right for us. If it had been we should have married, shouldn’t we?”

“I rather liked that lawyer … the one who came down to see you. It seemed that he was really concerned about you. And your stepmother. She’s very beautiful, isn’t she? When I look at her …” She laughed a little mirthlessly. “Well, I think she is all that I am not.”

“You are very nice as you are, Myra. You must not denigrate yourself so much.”

“And you are nice to say so. But tell me about this lawyer. You knew him in Edinburgh, did you?”

“Yes.”

“He was a friend of your family, I suppose.”

“You could say that.”

I had to stop the trend of this conversation.

I said quickly: “And it all turned out well for you.”

She said: “Yes. My grandfather was right. I might have married someone my mother found for me. But I didn’t and if I had there wouldn’t have been Roger.”

“So you are completely happy now?”

“Well …”

“You are, aren’t you?”

She hesitated, looked at me thoughtfully and then, I believed, decided to confide in me. “Sometimes … I’m afraid.”

“Afraid of what?”

“He is so distinguished, isn’t he? Sometimes I wonder …”

“Tell me what you wonder.”

“Whether I’m good enough. What does he see in me? If he hadn’t been rich himself I should have thought it was the money …”

I laughed at her. “Myra, you must stop thinking like that. He married you, didn’t he? He loves you, not your money.”

“It’s so hard to believe. He is so wonderful. Of course, if he had needed the money …”

“Stop it, Myra!” I laughed again and she laughed with me. I was so relieved. I had thought she was afraid of him and all she feared was that she was not attractive enough for him.

I must overcome this ridiculous feeling that there was something rather sinister about Roger Lestrange.

IT WAS NO USE trying to hold back the days. They were passing with alarming rapidity.

Very soon we should arrive at our destination and reality would take the place of this dreamlike idyllic existence which we had been enjoying for the last few weeks.

We should have to face whatever we found—our school. Where should we find the pupils? Lilias had said it was no use planning anything until we saw what we were coming to.

We were due in Cape Town in two days’ time.

Roger Lestrange had said we must accompany him and Myra to Kimberley. It was a longish journey, but he had done it more than once and he could help us and take us to our new home.

We accepted his offer with alacrity.

“It really was good fortune for us to be travelling in the same ship,” said Lilias. “They have made it all so much more interesting for us than it would otherwise have been.”

She did not realise how much we owed to Roger Lestrange, but I was soon to discover.

That night I went out onto the deck as I often did. I loved to sit there underneath the velvety sky with the stars more brilliant than they seemed at home. The air was warm and there was hardly anyone about. It was perfect peace.

It will soon be over, I thought, and what shall we find? Myra and Roger Lestrange would not be far away. It was good to have them as friends—particularly in a foreign country.

And as I sat there I heard a light footstep on the deck and before I looked up I guessed who it was.

He said: “Hello. Revelling in the starry night? May I?” He drew up a chair and sat beside me.

“It is pleasant, isn’t it?” I said.

“It’s more than pleasant. It’s delightful.”

“I agree.”

“I wonder more people don’t take advantage of it. Never mind. It gives us an opportunity to talk in peace. How are you feeling? Nearly there, you know.”

“I was just thinking of that when you came up.”

“It’s a bit of a gamble, isn’t it?”

“Rather more than that.”

“You’ll be all right. We shall not be far away.”

“You must be looking forward to getting to your home.”

“I’ve enjoyed the trip.”

“Of course. You met Myra.”

“Yes, and you … and Miss Milne. It has been very illuminating.”

“Illuminating?”

“It is always interesting meeting people, don’t you think?”

“Oh yes, of course.”

“You and Myra seem to get along very well.”

“I think we do. I’ve grown fond of her.”

“That’s good. She’s rather retiring. I like to see you two friendly. I couldn’t bear to think of you down there in that steerage … or whatever it is.”

“Oh … yes, at first it really was rather dreadful.”

“I’m glad I rescued you from that. Glad for myself as well as you.”

“Rescued us?”

“Well, I couldn’t leave you down there, could I?”

“You mean … you …”

“Look, it was nothing. Forget it.”

“But … they said there was a mistake. We thought …”

“I insisted that you were not told.”

“Please tell me exactly what happened.”

“It’s quite clear. You paid for a cabin and you got what you paid for.”

“I … I see. Lilias wanted to have the cheapest. That Society was lending the money and she could not bear to be in debt.”

“Very worthy sentiments.”

“So it was you who …”

“I had you moved. I paid the extra so that you could enjoy the voyage in comfort.”

I felt myself flushing. “But … we must pay you back.”

“Certainly not.”

“Lilias …”

“Lilias need know nothing of the transaction. Just imagine her feelings. Besides, she would feel she had to pay me. That would be as bad as paying the Society. And you know how she hates to be in debt.”

I was silent for a moment. Then I said: “I can pay you.”

“I shall refuse to take it.”

“But you must.”

“Why? It was a little gift. It was nothing. And think what a pleasure it has been for me … and for Myra … to have your company, which we could not have had, you know, if we had had to be separated on different sides of the barriers.”

“It was very good of you, but you must allow me to refund the money, my share at least.”

“I will not allow it.”

“I cannot accept.”

“My dear … D-Diana, you already have.”

“But …”

“No buts please. Think of proud Lilias. She must go on believing that there was a misunderstanding in allotting the cabins and when it was realised it was put right.”

“Why should you do this?”

“Because I could not bear to think of you two ladies in such conditions. I should not have told you.”

“But you have.”

“It slipped out. Perhaps I wanted to let you know that I wanted to help you. After all, it is a big step you’re taking and I suggested you should come to South Africa. I very much want it to be a success.”

“You are very good and I am grateful to you. But I would rather …”

“Will you please me in this matter? Say no more about it. I have been delighted to have your company … so has Myra. In fact, we have all had a pleasant voyage.” He laid his hand on mine. “Please see it this way … and not another word about the matter.”

I should have guessed. We had paid so little for the voyage.

We had been so inexperienced in these matters. It was good of him to be concerned. That was how I must try to see it. But the discovery did make me feel a little uneasy.

IN TWO MORE DAYS we should reach our destination. One could sense the tension throughout the ship. For myself—and I knew that Lilias felt the same—there was an immense excitement which at times would almost be overcome by a fearful apprehension. There were times when it was brought home forcibly to us that, somewhat blithely, we had decided to leave all that was familiar to start an entirely new life.

We now began to ask ourselves how well equipped we were to do this and we were very preoccupied. We would sit in silence staring out over the sea, each aware that our thoughts were running on similar lines.

Roger Lestrange, I was sure, was fully aware of our feelings; he continually sought to allay our fears. All was going to be well. He would be at hand. We must remember that we had friends.

I remember vividly that sunny day, sitting there on the deck, looking out over an aquamarine sea with scarcely a ripple to disturb its tranquility. Lilias and I had been joined by Roger and Myra. Poor Myra; I guessed her apprehensions about her new life were as deep as mine and Lilias’.

The captain, who was on his daily round of the ship, came into sight.

“Good afternoon,” he said. “Lovely day.”

We agreed that it was.

“Soon be there,” he added.

“On a day like this it seems too soon,” said Roger.

“Yes … and the weather is set fair for the next few days, it seems. Though the Cape can be tricky.”

“Indeed,” said Roger. “I’ve had experience of that.”

The captain smiled and his eyes rested on Lilias, Myra and me.

“You young ladies will be visiting South Africa for the first time.”

“Yes,” said Lilias.

“You could have chosen a better time, wouldn’t you say, Mr. Lestrange?”

“It will probably blow over,” said Roger.

“This time it seems to be a little more serious.”

“Oh, there’s been trouble before?” said Lilias.

“Oh yes … brewing for years, but I’d say that now it seems to be coming to the boil.”

“The captain is referring to Kruger. He’s getting rather truculent just now.”

“It’s been seething for some time, I know,” said the captain. “But after the Jameson Raid … well, things have gone from bad to worse.”

“Why is this?” I asked.

“What would you say?” asked the captain, looking at Roger.

“It’s simple. Cecil Rhodes wants a British South Africa. Kruger wants it for the Afrikaners. It will be all right. Kruger wouldn’t dare go too far.”

“We’ll wait and see,” said the captain. “Well, I must be getting along. I’ll see you later.”

After he had gone I turned to Roger. “I should like to know more about these matters.”

“Of course. You’re going to live there. Naturally enough you want to know.”

“The captain seemed quite concerned,” said Lilias.

“Well, to put it briefly,” said Roger, “this jostling for power has been going on for some time, but when diamonds and gold were found in the country, it meant that people came and settled from elsewhere. They were mostly British subjects. Consequently the population changed and the newcomers, whom the Afrikaners called Uitlanders—Outlanders, of course—wanted to play a dominating role in the administration of the country. Paul Kruger was President of the Transvaal and he could see what was coming.”

“He’s a very strong leader, I believe,” said Lilias.

“Indeed he is. He realised at once that if the Uitlanders were given a vote the Afrikaners would be outnumbered, with disastrous consequences to them. They were suspicious of the British who, right from the first, had maintained a different attitude towards the black population. When the emancipation of slavery had taken place in Britain the British wanted to extend it to South Africa. This was something which the Boers could not tolerate because it robbed them of the labour on their farms. It is a long story of conflict.”

“And now the captain seems to think it is ‘coming to the boil.’ “

“We’ve been thinking that for some time. The reason that there is a scare now is because Kruger has ordained that no Uitlander may have a vote in the presidential elections, and only those who have lived fourteen years in the country and are forty years old can vote in the Volksraad elections. That is for the parliament, of course.”

“It seems hardly fair if these Uitlanders had settled in the country.”

“Exactly. Besides, many of them have become wealthy and are contributing considerably to the finances of the country and yet are denied a vote. You could not expect men like Cecil Rhodes and Jameson to stand aside and let such a state of affairs go on.”

“Then, of course, there was the Jameson Raid,” said Lilias.

“That delayed matters for some time. Especially when the Emperor of Germany sent a telegram congratulating Kruger on his success in the affair; on the other hand, there is no doubt that the British government is more determined than ever to show its strength.”

“So it does seem as though there is some danger of big trouble?” said Lilias anxiously.

“As I say, the trouble is not new. It will be sorted out, no doubt. Negotiations are going on now, I believe, between Joseph Chamberlain, who is Secretary of State for the Colonies, and Jan Smuts, Kruger’s young State Attorney. Being away all this time, I have only heard what is happening through the British press.”

“We did not take very much notice of it,” said Lilias. “Since we decided to come to South Africa there has been so much to do.”

“I should forget it.”

“But if there is this conflict between the Afrikaners and the Uitlanders, of whom we should be regarded as members, might they not be a little hostile towards us?”

“My dear lady, nobody would be hostile to you, I am sure. No, no. They will be delighted to have you come to give your skills to their children. I am sure you will find a warm welcome awaiting you. Moreover, I shall be nearby. Riebeeck House is not far from the schoolhouse. So I shall be at hand if needed.”

I felt he was expecting us to say that we were greatly comforted, but I—and I am sure Lilias felt the same—could not truthfully say that. We were beginning to wonder with a certain trepidation what lay ahead of us.

CAPE TOWN WAS BEAUTIFUL. I wished that we could have stayed to explore. The sun was welcoming; the people seemed friendly. From what I had heard from Roger and the captain, I had been prepared for a hostile reception from some members of the community. We were Uitlanders; and there was a controversy in progress among the people here. But there was no sign of this.

I marvelled at the grandeur of the Table Mountain and Table Bay.

“What a beautiful country!” I cried; and Lilias agreed with me.

We smiled at each other. We both felt that it was going to be all right.

The long train journey through the veldt was of absorbing interest, if somewhat exhausting. It was five hundred and forty miles from Cape Town to Kimberley and Roger had warned us that it would take thirty hours.

“It’s fortunate that you do not have to trek,” he added.

We had to be grateful to him. Throughout the journey, his air of authority brought him the best and immediate attention; and we shared in that.

“How different it would have been without his help,” I said to Lilias, and she agreed.

At last we arrived in Kimberley.

Roger Lestrange insisted on taking us to the schoolhouse before going on with Myra to Riebeeck House.

As we drove through the town, Lilias and I gazed intently from the windows of the carriage.

“It’s a prosperous town,” Roger told us. “It’s growing fast. That is what diamonds have done for it. Besides, it’s on the direct route from Cape Town to the Transvaal.” With pride he pointed out some of the fine buildings—the Town Hall, the High Court and the botanical gardens.

Lilias and I exchanged gratified glances. We had said when we heard of the troubles of this country that we should have been better in Australia or New Zealand. But this was very agreeable.

The carriage had drawn up before a small white building set back from the road in a kind of courtyard.

“The schoolhouse,” announced Roger.

The door opened even as he spoke and a man emerged. He was in his early thirties, I imagined, fresh-complexioned and smiling.

“Mr. John Dale,” said Roger. “Let me introduce you to the new schoolmistresses, John.”

“This is Miss Milne and Miss Grey?” said the young man, looking from one of us to the other.

“This is Miss Grey,” said Lilias. “I am Miss Milne.”

He shook her hand and then mine.

“And this,” said Roger Lestrange, “is my wife.”

John Dale held out his hand and shook Myra’s.

“Welcome to Kimberley,” he said. “I hope you will be very happy here, Mrs. Lestrange.”

Roger stood smiling benignly and said: “Well, we have had a long journey and my wife and I will be off. Can I leave the ladies in your care, John?”

“Certainly.” He turned to us. “Do please come in. Let me take your baggage.”

“There is much more to come,” said Lilias.

“Of course. But now, let’s get in.”

“So,” said Roger, “we’ll leave you.”

We thanked him sincerely for all he had done.

“We shall be seeing you soon. We shall want to hear what you think of it and how you are settling in, shall we not, Myra?”

“Oh yes … yes. Please come and see us soon,” said Myra.

“Of course they will, my dear,” put in Roger. “We’re so close. You’re not going to lose them. Well, we shall be getting on. You’re safe in John’s hands. Au revoir.”

We had stepped into a hall and John Dale brought in our bags and set them down.

“Now,” he said. “Let me explain who I am. I’m a member of the council which looks after the town. We have been very concerned about the education of our young people. It’s a very small school, as you will see. We’ve never had more than about twenty pupils. The difficulty has been to get teachers who stay. Originally we had a Miss Groot who was here for twenty years. Then she became too old and we had a young woman who stayed for two years, married and went away. Since then we have found it difficult to find someone who would come and feel a real interest in the school. When Mr. Lestrange told us about you, we were delighted. I hope you will like it here.”

“And I hope you will find us satisfactory,” said Lilias.

“There are two of you …”

He hesitated, and Lilias said quickly: “Yes, we know that you only needed one teacher.”

“The fact is that we should like to have two teachers … but the funds won’t run to it. If we had more pupils, well then, we should need more teachers. But the fees we charge are not large and the school is really supported by the town … and sometimes it seems that not everyone gives education the respect it deserves.”

“We do understand,” said Lilias. “That is quite satisfactory. We wanted to be together and we are prepared to come and work here.”

He still looked worried. Then he said: “I am forgetting. You must be tired and hungry. I have brought with me a bottle of wine and some food. Would you like to eat now or would you prefer that I show you the place?”

“Let us see the place and perhaps we could wash some of the grime from the journey from us. Then we could eat and talk in comfort, if that is agreeable to you.”

“That’s an excellent idea. There is an oil stove on which we can heat water. I’ll put that on and while it is heating I can show you round.”

We were quite pleased with what we saw. There was a large room with a long table and chairs in it together with a large cupboard. We opened this and found books and slates inside.

“The schoolroom,” said Lilias with approval.

In addition to the schoolroom there were two small rooms on the ground floor, and a kitchen with a back door which opened onto a small garden. Shrubs grew in profusion and Lilias gave a cry of pleasure.

John Dale was smiling, evidently delighted by our appreciation.

Lilias said: “We had no idea what we were coming to.”

“And feared the worst?” he asked.

“Well, we did not imagine anything so good as this, did we, Diana?”

Upstairs there were four small rooms, simple but quite comfortably furnished.

“Bedrooms and a study and still one room left,” said Lilias. She went to the window and looked out on the street. Then she turned to me with shining eyes.

“I want to make this into a flourishing school,” she said.

“You will,” replied John Dale. “And now that water will be hot and I’ll bring it up for you.”

“We’ll help,” said Lilias. I had rarely seen her so excited.

In the room downstairs John Dale had set out the meal. There was cold chicken, crusty bread, a bottle of wine and some luscious pears.

“This is a lovely welcome to our new life,” said Lilias.

“I want you to know how glad we are that you have come,” John Dale told us. “Let me tell you something about the town and the people.”

“We are longing to hear.”

“I think you will like the climate, although you may find it a little too hot in summer.”

“We are prepared for that,” I said.

“Kimberley, as you probably know, owes its prosperity to diamonds. Before ‘71 it was more or less a village. Then, of course, there were the discoveries … and everything changed. Kimberley is diamonds. Most of us here are engaged in the business in some form or other … if not finding them, preparing them for the market and actually marketing them.”

“You, too?” asked Lilias.

“Yes, I work in the offices of one of the biggest companies.”

“Would that be Mr. Lestrange’s company?”

“Oh no … not ours. When he came to Kimberley some years ago, he bought a share in one of the other companies. Shortly afterwards he married and acquired Riebeeck House. It is one of the finest residences in the town. Tell me, when did you propose to open the school?”

“There is no reason for delay,” said Lilias. “Let us have a day or so to settle in and find out what pupils we have and what materials there are …”

“Of course. What about starting on Monday? That would give you the rest of this week and the weekend.”

“And the pupils?”

“There are about ten of them so far. There will be more.”

“What ages?”

“Varying.” He looked at her anxiously. “Will that make it difficult?”

“It is what one expects and as there are two of us, we can divide into two classes perhaps. However, we shall have to see.”

“I’ll circulate the news that school will start on Monday.”

“How very kind you are.”

“Not at all. I am delighted that we are getting the school started again. Education is so necessary. I wish everyone here agreed with me.”

“These pears are delicious,” I said.

“We grow the finest fruit in the world here.”

“What a beautiful country it is!” said Lilias. “To us it is like the Promised Land.”

He laughed. “I’ll remember that. I am going to drink a toast. May it live up to that.”

When he had left and we were alone in our schoolhouse, Lilias and I agreed that it had been a wonderful welcome.

The Kimberley Treasure

THE NEXT WEEK was a busy one and most enjoyable. I had never seen Lilias so excited.

“If I had tried to imagine something I wanted to do, it would have been exactly this,” she announced. “It’s like starting a new school … my school.”

She went through the books that were there and made lists of what she would like to have. John Dale, who was quite a frequent visitor, joined in the enthusiasm. He would see the council and discover whether she could have what she wanted.

“He’s a great ally,” said Lilias. “How lucky we are to have him here!”

On the appointed day the children arrived. There were fourteen of them—not a great number but more than we had dared hope for. Their ages ranged from five to fourteen and Lilias decided that I should take the fives to sevens, of whom there were six, and she would teach the elder ones; I with my pupils would be at one end of the largish room and she at the other.

It was a strange feeling to be confronted by the young children. They stared at me with interest and I felt it was going to be a trying ordeal and I only hoped that I should be able to deal with it satisfactorily. I managed to struggle through and began by teaching the alphabet and nursery rhymes.

When the children had gone to their homes Lilias and I cooked simple meals for ourselves in the little kitchen and discussed what had happened during the day. Lilias was in her element; I was less sure of myself. This was Lilias’ vocation, I reminded her. My abilities in the teaching field were yet to be tested.

“You’ll come to it,” she assured me. “You must remember that you mustn’t lose your patience. Never let them see that you are ruffled in any way. You’ve lost the battle if you do; and there is a certain battle on. They’re watching you as closely as you are watching them. You have to show the right amount of authority. Be kind. Be patient. But make them aware all the time that you are in charge.”

“I’ll try to remember that. I’ll stick to the rules … if I can.”

For the first week I thought of little but doing the job. The days started to pass quickly. The routine had to be followed rigorously. Lessons all morning. The children came at nine and left at twelve. Then we would cook something light and eat a meal to be ready for when they returned at two o’clock; they stayed till four.

We were becoming known in the town and the shopkeepers were very pleasant to us. We had the impression that the townsfolk were pleased that the school was open again.

Of all the children in my class there was one girl who interested me particularly. I was haunted by her rather sad little face. Her name was Anna Schreiner and she was about five years old. Her mother brought her to school each morning and called to pick her up at the appointed times with most of the parents of the younger children. She was a quiet child and, if addressed, usually replied in monosyllables; she hardly ever smiled. Her mother was young and pretty, fair-haired, blue-eyed and rather plump. It struck me that Anna was brooding on something which she could not get out of her mind.

One day the children were copying the letters I had put on the blackboard; so deep in concentration were they that there was hardly a sound except that of pencils scratching on slates. I wandered round, looking at what they were doing, commenting now and then. “Is that an 0 or a Q? A Q? It hasn’t got its little tail on, has it?” “The loop on that P comes down too far. See?” Then I came to Anna. She was working laboriously and all her letters seemed perfect.

I sat down beside her. “That’s very good,” I said.

She did not smile. She just went on with the letters.

“Is everything all right, Anna?”

She nodded.

“Do you like school?”

She nodded again.

“You are happy here?”

Again the nod. I was getting nowhere.

She continued to bother me. I thought she was an unnatural child, aloof from the others.

I watched her with her mother. Her face did not brighten when she saw her. She just ran up to her and took her hand; and they went off together.

I told Lilias of my interest in the child.

“Children vary,” she said. “She’s just a solemn child.”

“She has that pretty mother. I wonder if she is an only child?”

“John Dale would probably know. Ask him next time you see him.”

That time would not be far off, I guessed. He was a frequent visitor to the schoolhouse. He often brought food and wine as he had on the first day and we would share what he called a “picnic.”

When I asked him about Anna Schreiner he said: “Oh yes. Poor child. I understand her living in perpetual fear. She probably imagines Hell’s Gates are open wide to receive her if she’s five minutes late for school.”

“Her mother looks as though she is quite a jolly person.”

“Greta, yes. Well, she was … once. I don’t understand why she married old Schreiner. Although there were rumours …”

“Rumours?” I cried.

“It’s probably a lot of scandal.”

“Mr. Dale,” said Lilias. “It helps us to teach our children if we know something of their background.”

“Well, I’ll tell you what I know. Piet Schreiner is rather a formidable character. Calvinistic … puritanical. There are a few like him in this town … and all over the country, it seems. There is a strong feeling of puritanism among the Boers. He is even more fanatical than most. One could imagine his going off on the Great Trek. Hard-working … strictly honest and … godly—so he would say. It seems sad that someone with his virtues should put such an interpretation on his religion as to make life miserable for everyone around him. For such as he is, everything people do seems to have its roots in sin. I suppose he himself is always on guard against it.”

“And that’s little Anna’s father?” I said.

“Well … on the surface. There are some who say that is not the case.”

“What do you mean?” asked Lilias.

“Schreiner is all of twenty years older than Greta … she’s the child’s mother. A pretty girl who was inclined to be flighty … once. Her family were strict with her … and I suppose that may have added to the incentive to stray … or to do something that shocks. The fact of the matter is that her family were very friendly with Schreiner. He’s a lay preacher in the chapel which they attend. Whether or not Greta married him because she was in trouble, I am not sure, but I cannot imagine she could have had any other reason for doing so.”

“So Schreiner is not Anna’s father …”

“He calls himself her father. It’s all on the records. The girl is Anna Schreiner all right. The fact is that Schreiner married Greta in a bit of a hurry. No one had thought he would ever marry anyone—let alone a young girl like that. There was a lot of talk about it. However, there it was. They married—that frivolous young girl and the hellfire preacher so much older than herself. It was a nine days’ wonder. There was as much talk about it as when Ben Curry found the Blue Diamond and made a millionaire of himself. But that happened more than five years ago. People forget. They only remember now and then.”

“So that poor child lives with her flighty mother and this fanatically religious man who may or may not be her father.”

“Poor little thing. I don’t suppose she has too good a time.”

“I must try to help her in some way,” I said.

“Don’t get into conflict with old Schreiner,” warned John. “Holy men can be fiendish when they are fighting the enemies of the righteous … which means anyone who doesn’t agree with them.”

“That’s not likely,” said Lilias. “But I know Diana will be gentle with the poor little thing.”

After that I took an even greater interest in Anna Schreiner, but no matter how I tried, it was impossible to get her to talk. She just worked more diligently than the others and quietly walked away with her pretty mother.

What sort of life did they have with each other? I wondered.

ON OUR SECOND SUNDAY in Kimberley Lilias and I were invited to lunch at Riebeeck House.

Myra had called on us on the previous Wednesday about four-thirty, after school had closed.

She said: “I guessed that I should be interrupting school if I came at any other time. Do tell me how everything is going.”

“Very well indeed,” Lilias told her enthusiastically. “We have been agreeably surprised.”

“That’s wonderful. I hear that the school is a great success.”

“That’s a bit premature,” cautioned Lilias, but she was well pleased. “Where did you hear that?”

“From Mrs. Prost, our housekeeper. She is one of those women who know what is going on everywhere.”

“Useful to have around,” I commented. “And how is everything with you?”

“Oh …” There was a brief hesitation. “Everything is very well.”

“And you like the house?”

“It’s … very large and one is apt to get lost. The servants are nearly all Africans. It makes it difficult to … be understood.”

“But this Mrs. Prost, she looks after everything, I suppose.”

“Oh yes. I came to ask you over to lunch on Sunday. It has to be a Sunday for you, doesn’t it?”

“Yes,” said Lilias. “That is the best day.”

“Roger wants to hear all about the school. He says you will have settled in and formed an opinion by now.”

“People have been so good to us,” said Lilias. “It was lucky for us that we met you on the ship … and since that mistake about our cabin, we were able to be with you. And now that we are here, well, Mr. Dale has been quite invaluable to us, hasn’t he, Diana?”

I said that he had, for from the moment we had arrived he had taken us under his wing.

“They’re so glad to get the school going again,” said Myra. “You will come, won’t you?”

“But of course,” I said. “We shall be delighted, shall we not, Lilias?”

So it was arranged.

When she had gone, I said to Lilias: “I can’t help feeling that all is not quite right with that marriage.”

Lilias laughed at me. “You and your fancies! First it’s little Anna Schreiner, and now it is the Lestranges. The trouble with you is that you have too much imagination and you let it run wild. You like something dramatic to happen and when it doesn’t you set about creating it.”

“Perhaps you’re right,” I said. “But all the same …”

Practical Lilias. She could only smile at me.

And as I liked to see her happy I smiled with her.

RIEBEECK HOUSE was something of a mansion. Although it was situated in the town, once one had passed through the gates and entered the grounds which surrounded the house, one might have been miles away from any other dwelling.

The drive in was about a quarter of a mile in length, but the foliage was so lush and abundant that one felt one was in the heart of the country. Flowering shrubs of colourful blossoms were huddled together. Flame trees and poinsettias added a further dash of colour. I shall never forget my first sight of the place as we came through this mass of vegetation to the white house.

It was an imposing place, built in the Dutch style. There were steps leading up to a stoop in front of the house and on this were urns which were almost hidden by the prolific plants.

It was large and there seemed to be many windows. It was one of those houses which had a personality of its own. Lilias laughed at this when, later, I mentioned it to her. Practical Lilias saw everything with absolute clarity for what it was.

Very soon I felt there was something a little repellant about the house. Perhaps it was because I could never feel absolutely at ease in the company of Roger Lestrange. I also had an idea that Myra was not as happy as she should be and that she shared with me that vague lack of ease.

Mrs. Prost came down to greet us.

“You must be Miss Milne and Miss Grey,” she said. She had small light eyes which darted everywhere. Her light brown hair was plaited and wound round her head. I had the impression that there was little she would miss. “Do come in,” she went on. “I’ll tell Mrs. Lestrange that you are here.”

“We’re glad to meet you, Mrs. Prost,” said Lilias.

“Welcome to Kimberley. I hear the school is doing well.”

“It’s early days yet,” said Lilias cautiously. “But all is well … at the moment.”

“Very pleased to hear it, and so is everyone.”

Myra appeared.

“I thought I heard your arrival.”

Mrs. Prost stood watching while Myra greeted us.

“Luncheon will be served at one o’clock, Mrs. Lestrange,” she said.

“Thank you, Mrs. Prost.” Myra turned to us. “Do come up. Roger is in the drawing room. He is so looking forward to hearing your news.”

She took my hand and held it lingeringly.

“Are you well?” I asked.

“Oh yes … thanks. I am so glad you came. I wanted to call at the school, but I thought you would be so busy just at first.”

“We’re teaching in the mornings … and then again from two till four,” said Lilias. “Any time after that we love to receive visitors.”

“Roger says that John Dale has been looking after you.”

“He is,” said Lilias warmly. “We are so grateful to him. He has made everything so easy for us.”

We were taken through a large hall with white walls and vivid red curtains, up a staircase to a room on the first floor.

Myra opened a door and said: “They’re here.”

It was a spacious room with tall windows. My first impression was that of an interior painting by one of the Dutch masters. The floor was of delicately tinted tiles which gave an impression of coolness. Later I noticed the heavy furniture— baroque style—the table with the scrolls and the inlaid ebony, the cabinet on stands, impressive with pilasters and decorative carving.

But there was no time to look round then for Roger Lestrange had risen and was coming towards us, hands outstretched.

“Miss Milne … Miss Grey … what a pleasure!”

He took our hands and smiled warmly. “How good of you to come. I have been hearing of your success. It is especially gratifying as I shall receive the thanks of the grateful townsfolk for bringing you here.”

“We have been here only a short time,” began Lilias tentatively.

“And,” I added, “we have fourteen pupils, so there has hardly been a stampede to our gate.”

Lilias smiled at me. “We are really very pleased,” she said. “We were warned that there would only be a few pupils and Mr. Dale did not really expect so many as there are.”

Roger looked at Myra expectantly and she said hastily: “Come and sit down. Luncheon will be served at one.”

“What do you think of our house?” asked Roger.

“We are very impressed by what we have seen,” said Lilias.

“After luncheon you shall see it all and then you will be able to pass judgement.”

“You seem to be isolated, though, of course, you are not really,” I said.

“I’m glad you get that impression. And you are right, of course. No one can really be isolated in a town. But it is good to be here for business reasons and I like to create an impression of detachment, even if it is not strictly true. That was one of the reasons why I bought the house.”

“Oh? I had the impression that it was a sort of house which had been in your family for years.”

“Oh no. I bought the place … lock, stock and barrel … furniture and everything. It belonged to an old Dutch family who had been here for a hundred years. They decided they did not like the way things were going and they sold up and went back to Holland. It was very convenient for me. We … my first wife and I … wanted a place and this seemed to suit. So there it was, waiting for us. We just walked in and took on everything that was here … furniture, Mrs. Prost, most of the servants, I believe. Mrs. Prost would know how many.”

“You didn’t mind just walking in and taking over someone else’s possessions?”

“We didn’t mind in the least. We found it convenient … That was Margarete … my first wife.”

I glanced at Myra. I saw her flinch slightly. I wondered what that meant. Or did it mean anything? Was I imagining again?

We went into luncheon … to a similar room. I noticed the tiled floor, the heavy table and chairs.

Roger Lestrange sat at one end of the table, Myra at the other, Lilias and I facing each other.

As we ate Roger said: “There is one thing I wanted to ask you. It’s about my son, Paul. He is at present without a tutor. I was wondering whether it would be a good thing to send him away to school in England? It’s a big undertaking for him and I am not sure that he is ready. I thought that … for a while … if you would have him, I might send him along to your school.”

Lilias cried: “Of course, we should be delighted.”

“You must meet him before you go.”

While silent-footed Africans served the food, Roger Lestrange made a few comments about the weather and I could see that Lilias was impatient to hear more about Paul.

“Isn’t he rather young to be sent overseas?” asked Lilias.

“Oh no. He’s nine years old. Isn’t that the time boys go away to school? I should imagine many boys in England would be in boarding schools at that age.”

“Yes, but this is sending him overseas … right away from his home.”

“I don’t think he would mind that, do you, my dear?”

Myra agreed that he would not mind.

“He’s a strange boy,” went on Roger. “He keeps out of our way since we’ve been back.” He was looking at Myra, who seemed embarrassed, as though it were her fault that the boy kept away. Perhaps he resented his stepmother. Very likely. In any case, it appeared that Myra might be accepting the blame.

“Oh well, you’ll see for yourselves.” He wrinkled his brows and looked at us rather anxiously. “Do you know,” he went on, “I’m seriously beginning to wonder whether you were wise to come here.”

“Why?” I asked sharply; Lilias was looking at him questioningly.

“I don’t much like the way things are going. I haven’t liked it for some time … but now that I’m back, I see what’s happening more clearly.”

“What is happening?”

“Kruger is getting very stubborn. Trouble is blowing up fast between him and Chamberlain.”

“Chamberlain?”

“Joseph Chamberlain, Secretary of State for the Colonies. The trouble goes back a long way … you might say, right to the beginning of the century … ever since the British captured the Cape from Napoleon’s Dutch allies. I believe I have mentioned the trouble about the slaves when the British tried to reform conditions for the Khoi servants and made laws to protect them against cruelty. There has been antagonism between the Boers and the English ever since.”

“They don’t seem to be antagonistic towards us … individually.”

“Oh no. It’s the leaders who are at each other’s throats. They don’t blame us for what they call the arrogance of our leaders.”

“We have become quite friendly with a number of them now,” I said. “They have all been … well … rather especially nice to us.”

“It’s a quarrel between states. All the same, it can blow up. There would not be another Great Trek. This time they would stand firm and fight for their land.”

“What Great Trek was this?” asked Lilias.

“It happened about fifty years ago, but it’s still remembered. The conditions imposed by the British had robbed them of their slave labour, and they were unable to exist on the land, so they gathered their families and their goods together and set out across country in their ox-drawn wagons. Life was difficult. They were hard-working people, sternly religious, self-righteous, as such people often are, and they firmly believed that all who were not of their way of thinking were on the road to hell. All they wanted was to be left in peace with their slaves and their dogma, to work and make a living. So, harried by African tribes … the Zulus, the Ndebele and the Matabele … prevented from making a living by the British laws against slavery, what could they do? Only escape from their rulers to another land. Hence the Great Trek across country. They went as far as Natal and settled in the Transvaal.”

“They had a great deal of courage,” said Lilias.

“That’s something no one could accuse them of lacking. Then, of course, diamonds were discovered … and gold. That was to have a marked effect on the country. People came pouring in and Rhodes and Jameson dreamed of a British Africa. They managed to persuade Lobengula, King of the Matabele, to let them have mining concessions, and you know these lands are now Rhodesia … a British colony. But the trouble is between Kruger and Chamberlain.”

“That,” said Lilias, “means trouble between the British and the Boers.”

“There was a possibility at one time that Germany might come to the aid of the Boers and it seemed unlikely that the British would want to risk a war with Germany. It was a different matter with South Africa alone. That is what people are afraid of.”

“Wouldn’t it be better to come to some compromise?” asked Lilias.

“The Boers are not people to accept a compromise … unless it were forced on them.”

“And would it not be forced upon them by the power of Britain?” I asked.

“That might be, but I believe they are prepared to put it to the test. That is the crux of the matter: the franchise which Kruger is imposing in the Transvaal. The Uitlanders outnumber the Boers, so Kruger can’t give them the vote. Oh dear, I am spoiling this luncheon which I wanted to be so pleasant. It makes us very happy to have you here, does it not, Myra?”

“It does indeed,” she said fervently.

“Forgive me for bringing up a subject which would have been better left alone.”

“If it’s happening we would rather know about it,” said Lilias.

“Well, don’t let’s worry about it. There is peace so far. No one wants war. It is devastating to a country and almost always profits no one.”

“Yet there are constantly wars,” said Lilias.

He sighed. “That is the nature of man. Now … you must see more of this country. You will find it impressive, beautiful … often awe-inspiring.”

It came out during the course of the conversation that he had only been in South Africa some six or seven years. When I had first met him I had decided that he could not be of Dutch origin as so many of the people in South Africa were; but I had read somewhere that a certain number of French settlers in Africa were Huguenots who had left their own country to escape persecution, and I had assumed from his name that he was one of those. When I told him this, he said that he was indeed of French origin and his family had come to England at the time of the Edict of Nantes. So I was right in thinking that he came from a Huguenot family. He had, though, lived in England most of his life.

“You are very knowledgeable about your adopted country,” I said.

“I always believe in finding out all I can.” He looked at me steadily. “About everything,” he added.

I felt myself flushing and felt annoyed. Must I always suspect someone was probing my secret?

It was when the meal was over that a messenger arrived at the house asking that Mr. Lestrange go and meet a business colleague without delay as something important had turned up and needed his immediate attention.

“I am desolate,” he said. “At such a time as this! It is too bad I have to leave you.”

“Perhaps we should be going,” I said.

“Oh no!” cried Myra. “You have to meet Paul, and I want to show you the house.”

“Please do not run away because I have to go,” said Roger. “We will do this again … very soon. We must, to make up for my early departure. So … au revoir.”

It struck me that Myra was rather relieved when he was gone and with his absence she seemed to acquire a certain dignity. She’s afraid of him, I thought.

I was looking forward to meeting Paul Lestrange and I knew that Lilias was. We were different, Lilias and I. She would assess him as a pupil; to me he was an actor in what I felt might be some mysterious drama. I could not get rid of the idea that there was something strange about this household and that Myra was aware of it and that was why she appeared to be nervous.

Paul was tall for his age and bore no resemblance whatsoever to Roger. His hair was flaxen, his eyes blue-grey; and there was a cautious air about him.

“Paul,” said Myra, “these are the ladies who have opened the school, Miss Milne and Miss Grey.”

He came forward rather awkwardly and shook hands with us both.

Lilias said: “We have just heard that you may be joining us.”

He said: “I am going away to school.”

“Yes, we were told that, too. But it isn’t certain yet, is it?”

“Oh, no.”

“Do you think you would like to join us while you are waiting for things to be settled?”

“Oh yes, I should, thank you.”

“It is such a small school,” went on Lilias. “And there are pupils of all ages.”

“I know.”

“But, of course, we shall be expanding …”

“When shall you start?” I asked.

“I don’t know.”

“Why not tomorrow?” said Lilias. “The beginning of the week.”

“I don’t mind.”

He was noncommittal … cautious still. But at least he did not appear to dislike us.

Myra said: “I am going to show Miss Milne and Miss Grey the house and after that the garden. Would you like to come with us?”

To my surprise he said he would.

I wondered if Lilias was thinking the same about him as I was. Rather shut in on himself. Difficult to know. A little suspicious of us. Lots of children were like that.

The tour of the house began. There were several rooms on the first floor, all similar to the ones we had already seen. The rather ornate spiral staircase descended from the top to the bottom of the house. The heavy furniture was everywhere and I could not help feeling that it had been lovingly collected over the years.

“You haven’t lived here all your life, have you?”

“Oh no. We came here … just after they were married.”

I was puzzled. “Who … were married?”

“My mother … and him.”

“But … ?”

Myra said: “Do you like these drapes? Look at the embroidery on them.”

Lilias took the material in her hands, but I turned to Paul. He was looking at me as though he wanted to talk.

“You thought he was my father,” he said. “He’s not. He lets people think it, but he’s not. He’s not.”

Myra said: “It came from Amsterdam, I think. You can tell by the style of the embroidery.”

I said to Paul: “You mean Mr. Lestrange is not your father?”

He shook his head vigorously. “My father died. He died in a diamond mine. That was before …”

I moved away from Myra and Lilias … with him.

“I didn’t know,” I said. “Mr. Lestrange always speaks of you as though he is your father.”

“No, my father died and then my mother married him. I’m not his son. I have a real father. Only he’s dead.”

“I’m sorry about that.”

He pressed his lips together and held his head high.

I was thinking: I knew there were secrets in this house.

Myra was saying: “Paul is very interested in the house, aren’t you, Paul?”

“Yes,” said Paul. “Let’s show them the staircase.”

“We’ll come to it in time.”

“And the Model House?”

“Of course.”

“The staircase is very fine,” I said.

“Oh, not that one,” said Paul. “The other.”

“Oh, there are two, are there?”

“Yes,” he said, and I noticed his lips tightened again.

In due course we came to the staircase. It led from the hall to the second floor. It was obviously a back staircase, used by the servants, I supposed; it was covered in a green carpet held in place by brass stair rods.

“That’s it,” said Paul.

I could see nothing unusual about it. It was certainly not comparable with the spiral one by which we had ascended. It was natural, I supposed, to have two staircases in such a house.

“Interesting,” I said perfunctorily; but Paul was looking at it with gleaming eyes and Myra looked decidedly uncomfortable.

I had a strange and uncanny feeling that they were seeing something which was not visible to Lilias and me.

A short while later I was inspecting the Model House. It was quite extraordinary. It was like a large dolls’ house. It was in a smallish room, the whole of which was needed to accommodate it, and it reached from floor to ceiling.

I suddenly realised that it was an exact replica of the house. The rooms were all there, the two staircases, the heavy furniture, all in miniature.

I couldn’t resist saying: “It’s like a huge dolls’ house—the biggest I have ever seen.”

“It’s not a dolls’ house,” said Paul. “It’s not for children.”

“No,” said Myra. “Roger explained it to me. It’s an old custom. It started in Germany and was adopted by the Dutch. Their homes mean so much to them so they have models made of them … exact copies. When furniture is taken away it is removed from the model house and when new comes in a small copy is made.”

“What an extraordinary idea!” said Lilias. “I have never heard of it.”

“Yes,” said Myra. “They don’t follow it now. But the people who lived here before did. They probably thought it was unlucky to dispense with an old custom. People do, don’t they? It’s a bit of an oddity and amuses people, Roger says.”

Paul was apparently very proud of it. He said: “You’ve seen it with the doors open. It’s like taking away the front of a house. It’s the only way to see inside, isn’t it? You can see it all in this one. In ordinary houses you can’t see what’s inside. This house hasn’t got doors. It’s all open. So it doesn’t have the inscription which is on the door of this house. You didn’t see it when you came in because it was all covered up with creeper. I think some people are glad about that. It says: ‘God’s Eyes See All.’ It’s in Dutch. Most people here know what it means. But it’s covered with the creeper. But that wouldn’t stop God’s seeing all, would it?”

He gave me a rare smile.

I said: “No, it wouldn’t.”

“You liked it, didn’t you?” he said. “I mean the Model House?”

“I thought it was fascinating. I have never seen anything like it.”

That seemed to please him.

After that we went into the garden. It was extensive and that section near the house was laid out in lawns and flower beds and little paths; but there was a large area which had been allowed to grow wild and I could see that was what would appeal to a boy of Paul’s age.

He grew excited as we approached it.

“I think we ought to get back to the house,” said Myra. “You can get lost here. It’s like the jungle.”

“Just as far as the Falls,” said Paul. “I won’t let you get lost.”

“The Falls?” I said.

“Well,” Myra explained. “It’s a kind of miniature waterfall. There’s a stream … well, it’s more than a stream. It’s supposed to be a tributary of some river miles away, I think. It flows down from higher ground and makes this little waterfall. It’s quite attractive.”

It was, as she had said, although it was little more than a stream. It was about six feet wide and there was a rickety wooden bridge over it. But it was indeed attractive with the water cascading from a higher level making, as Myra said, a little waterfall.

Paul was pleased when we admired it.

“And now,” said Myra, “we must go back to the house.”

“Oh, let’s go just as far as the rondavels,” begged Paul.

He seemed to have attached himself to me, and I said: “What are the rondavels?”

“That’s where the servants live,” he explained.

“Sort of native huts,” said Myra. “They are circular and have thatched roofs.”

We had come to a clearing and I saw them. There must have been about twenty of them. It was like a native village. There were some very small children playing on the grass and at the door of one sat an old woman.

Myra had paused and we all stopped with her.

“It’s like a little colony,” said Myra. “They couldn’t all live in the house. There are too many and they wouldn’t like it. They like their own way of life.”

A young boy of about Paul’s age came running towards us. He stood before Paul smiling. Paul put his hand on the boy’s shoulder and patted it.

Myra said: “That’s Umgala, isn’t it?”

“Yes,” said Paul.

The boy had put his hand over Paul’s. It was a greeting, I guessed. Paul nodded at the boy and the boy nodded back. This was some sort of ritual. Neither of them spoke.

“Come along, Paul,” said Myra. And to us: “They don’t like us to intrude, I’m sure.”

Obediently Paul turned away.

“Poor Umgala,” said Myra. “He’s a deaf-mute. Both his parents work about the place.”

We had started walking back to the house.

“How can you communicate with that little boy?” I asked Paul.

“Like this,” said Paul, waving his hands.

“It must be difficult.”

He nodded.

“His parents are good workers,” said Myra. “Luban, his mother, works in the house, and his father, Njuba, in the garden. That’s right, isn’t it, Paul?”

“Yes.”

“It must be terrible to be born like that,” said Lilias.

“Yes, but he seems happy. He was pleased to see Paul.”

“Yes, Paul has established quite a friendship with him, haven’t you, Paul?”

“Yes,” said Paul.

“This has all been so interesting,” murmured Lilias.

We walked slowly back to the house and very soon afterwards we left.

Back at the schoolhouse Lilias talked a great deal about what we had seen. She was delighted that we were to have a new pupil.

“I had no idea that Mr. Lestrange was not the boy’s father,” she said. “I heard what the boy was saying.”

“He has always referred to him as his son.”

“Well, he’s his stepson, of course.”

“But he did give the impression that he was the boy’s father. He couldn’t have been married very long to his first wife. Did you get the impression that Myra was afraid of something?”

“Well, Myra was always afraid of her own shadow.”

“I just thought she was especially afraid.”

“She seemed afraid of the boy, too. She’s just a nervous person.”

“I shall be interested to see more of Paul.”

“So shall I. I’m sure he’ll be an interesting pupil.”

“I think he might be difficult to get to know. He seems to have some morbid obsession.”

“About what?”

“I’m not sure.”

“I am sure of one thing. You’ll do your best to find out.”

That night I wrote to Ninian Grainger. I told him that Roger Lestrange had paid for a better cabin for us and that I had kept this from Lilias because she would have been so worried about the debt which would have been a great strain on her; so I had let it pass and accepted.

“It was good of him,” I wrote, “and he did not let me know about it until right at the end of the voyage.”

I also told him about the school and our high hopes for it. We liked Kimberley and were getting on well with our pupils’ parents; and the friendship of the Lestranges made us feel we were not so far from home.

“I was surprised to discover that Roger Lestrange was not a native of this place. He apparently came out from England some years ago. He married out here and acquired this really rather fascinating house … and then his wife died. She must have been quite young. The son who I thought was his is his stepson. The boy’s mother must have died soon after the marriage.

“Well, there have been lots of surprises and I expect there are more to come. Mr. Lestrange, with whom we lunched today, told us that there is a certain unrest in the country, but there is no sign of it here …”

What a lot I was telling him! But I had promised I would tell him the details and I think the visit to Riebeeck House had excited me.

I sealed my letter. I would post it tomorrow.

PAUL JOINED THE SCHOOL and Lilias was very pleased. Like all good teachers she was delighted at the prospect of a responsive pupil.

“I wish I had more like him,” she said. “I’d like to give more attention to him. But, of course, before long I daresay he will be going away to school.”

Lilias was very efficient and my position was more or less a sinecure and I was afraid I contributed very little.

The school really resembled one of those village schools of which there were many at home. In isolated villages where there were too few pupils to make a large school possible, they were run by one schoolmistress. Everything depended on her. If she were good then so was the school.

Lilias said that in her early days she had attended such a school and she had found that when she went away to a boarding school she was in advance of the other girls who had been brought up by governesses.

“How I should love to have a big school with several teachers working for me and a hundred pupils! But, for the time being, this will suffice.”

She had wanted to share the salary, but I impressed on her that this was absurd. She did far more work than I did. I was prepared to take nothing at all. My income sufficed. She would not hear of that, so all I could do was insist that she take the larger share of the money. The truth was that she could have run the place very easily by herself.

She was happy and I was delighted to see her so. She dreamed of enlarging the school. But, of course, that was for the future. I realised more than ever that teaching was her vocation and how frustrated she must have been, confined to the domestic affairs of the vicarage. John Dale shared her interest in the school. He was a very frequent visitor. He used to call after school with a bottle of wine and some delicacies and we would talk far into the evening.

One afternoon when Greta Schreiner brought Anna to school she lingered behind to have a word with one of us. I saw her and she asked if we would keep Anna for an extra half an hour when school was over as she would be delayed coming to pick her up. This happened now and then with some of the children, for we would not consider letting any of the little ones go off without their parents. I told Greta that that would be all right.

When school was over Lilias went off to see a parent in the town who was thinking of sending her two children to the school, so I stayed behind with Anna.

We sat at the window watching for Greta to arrive. I tried to interest the child in a game in order to pass the time, but I received little response, and I was rather pleased when I saw Greta hurrying towards the schoolhouse.

Anna went quietly to her mother and I led the way to the door.

“Thank you, Miss Grey,” said Greta. “It was kind of you. I hope I wasn’t too long.”

“Oh no. You’re earlier than I had expected. Well, goodbye, Anna. Goodbye, Mrs. Schreiner.”

I went back into the schoolhouse and as I did so I heard the sound of horse’s hoofs. I went to the window. Roger Lestrange was riding into the courtyard. He pulled up, leaped from his horse and approached Greta Schreiner. They seemed to know each other well by the manner in which he was talking and laughing and she was responding. My thoughts flashed back to the house in Edinburgh and Kitty laughing in the kitchen with Hamish Vosper … and then Kitty in the stables at Lakemere chatting with the grooms. Some people were like that. They blossomed in masculine society. Zillah was another.

I watched them for what must have been five minutes. Roger had turned his attention to Anna. Suddenly he picked her up and held her in the air above him. He was laughing at her. I wondered what solemn little Anna thought of this familiar behaviour. It was not the sort of treatment she would be accustomed to from her puritanical father.

Roger set her down. He put his hand in his pocket and brought out what must have been a coin which he pressed into the child’s hand.

Then a strange thing happened. Piet Schreiner came striding across the courtyard. He must have been lurking close, watching, for he took the coin from Anna’s hand and threw it on the ground at Roger’s feet.

For a moment it seemed as though Greta, Roger and the child were turned to stone. No one spoke; no one moved; then Piet Schreiner seized Greta’s arm and dragged her away, Anna clutching at her hand.

Roger looked at the coin on the ground, shrugged his shoulders and came walking towards the schoolhouse, leading his horse which he tethered to the post there.

He was coming to see us.

When I opened the door he was smiling urbanely and showed no sign that he was in the least ruffled by the little scene in which he had taken part.

I said: “Hello, so you have come to see us?”

“To see you, Miss Grey.”

“Is everything all right? Paul …”

“I think Paul is enjoying his new school.”

“I couldn’t help seeing what happened just now.”

“Oh, that pious old fool! It was because I gave the child money.”

“It was so extraordinary.”

“He’s a little mad, I suppose. Religious maniac. He thinks everyone is destined for Hell Fire—except himself.”

“It seemed so amazing … when you have merely been generous to the child.”

He shrugged his shoulders. “I feel sorry for his poor wife.”

“I suppose everyone must be. I thought she seemed very pleased that you were friendly towards her.”

“I’m a friendly person. I can’t tell you how pleased I am about the way things are working out here. Miss Milne is out, isn’t she?”

“How did you know?”

“Ha! I’ll tell you. Mrs. Garton, whom I happen to know, was visiting us yesterday and she was talking about sending her girls to England to school. I pointed out that that was something of an undertaking—particularly as things are now—and while she was waiting why didn’t she send the girls to the school which was really an excellent one since the new ladies had taken it over. I could vouch for that as I was sending Paul there. I said, ‘Why don’t you consult Miss Milne, who is the senior teacher?’ She said, ‘I’ll do that tomorrow.’ I said, ‘I daresay Miss Milne would come and see you when school is over.’ So there you are. That is why I knew I should find you alone.”

I felt a twinge of uneasiness. In spite of his urbanity and obvious desire to help, I felt vaguely suspicious of his motives.

“I expect you are wondering how Paul is getting on with his studies,” I said. “I can tell you that Miss Milne thinks he is very bright. She knows a good deal about children, of course.”

“And you, too.”

“The fact is I am not really needed here. It’s a post for one … at the moment.”

“And you came out because you wanted to get away from England.”

“It seemed an exciting adventure.”

“And you were not very excited by life at home?”

He was looking at me quizzically. What does he know? I was asking myself. I could not quite understand the expression in his eyes. I fancied they were a little mocking. I did not understand this man. In spite of his flattering words and his attitude of gallantry, I felt he was taunting me, and that he knew it had been imperative for me to get away.

I had to turn the conversation away from myself.

“I was surprised to hear that Paul is not your son.”

“Oh … did you not realise that?”

“But … I think you said he was your son. Or that was how I understood it. You spoke of him as though …”

“He is my stepson, but I wanted him to regard me as his father. When I married his mother I felt I had a duty to him.”

“He remembers his father too well to accept someone else, I imagine. Children are faithful, you know.”

“I realise that now.” He smiled at me deprecatingly. “But I shall go on trying.”

“If he had been a little younger,” I said, “it would have been easier. He might have forgotten his father and have been ready to accept you.”

“I know.”

“How old was he when his father died?”

“About five, I think.”

“He’s nine now, isn’t he? It was only four years ago.”

“Yes, it happened rather quickly.”

“You must have married his mother soon after.”

“Well, it was more than a year … eighteen months perhaps.”

“I should imagine the speed of it all was too much for him. At seven his mother dies … and at nine he has not only a stepfather but a stepmother. Oh, I understand how difficult he must find it to adjust to all the changes.”

“I hadn’t thought of it like that. It seems that Margarete has been dead for a long time. Margarete … oh, she was such a sweet and simple girl! She could not deal with everything that had to be done when her first husband died. I helped her with her affairs. She was lonely and I was sorry for her. We slipped into marriage. And then … she died.”

“Was she ill?”

“When she lost her husband she was quite, quite bewildered. She felt she couldn’t cope with life. She was the sort of woman who needs someone to look after her. I did that as best I could. But it had all been a terrible shock for her. She began … well … please don’t mention this to anyone … but she began to drink a little … at first. I suppose she found some solace in that. I did not realise what a hold it was getting on her. She did it secretly, you see. But it was undermining her health, and one morning she was found …”

“Found?”

He turned away, as though to hide his emotion. He reached for my hand and gripped it hard. Then he said: “Found, at the bottom of the staircase.”

I knew which staircase. I understood now Paul’s obsession with it.

“She had fallen,” he went on. “It was an accident. I was greatly relieved when nothing came out about the secret drinking. They thought she had tripped over the carpet. One of the stair rods was loose. However, she fell from top to bottom. Her neck was broken.”

“What an awful thing to happen! And you had only been married for such a short time. Poor Paul.”

“He was dreadfully upset. It’s changed him. Made him moody. He misses his mother.”

“I understand that. And then you married Myra … quite soon after.”

“Myra is a sweet and gentle person. I think she reminded me of Margarete.” He was silent for a while and then he said: “I’m rather worried about Myra. I think she may be a little homesick. Do you think she is happy here?”

I hesitated and he went on: “Please tell me the truth.”

“Well … I don’t think she is entirely happy. I think she is afraid of disappointing you.”

“Disappointing me! Why should she be?”

“She is quiet and a little nervous, and you …”

“I am the opposite.”

“Well, you are, aren’t you?”

“I thought she would enjoy a little freedom. Her mother was a bit of a gorgon … and in that village … well, it was hardly riotously merry!”

“Perhaps she does not want to be riotously merry.”

“I thought I could get her away from it … make her happy, Diana … May I call you Diana? Miss Grey is so formal and we are good friends and we shall see more and more of each other here. I wanted to talk to you about her. I want you to help her.”

“In what way can I help?”

“I want you to see more of her. Come to the house. Go out with her … shopping … and all the things you ladies like to do. Be a friend to her. Come and stay at the house. Miss Milne is so efficient. She can manage without you now and then. I’d be so grateful if you could … get closer to Myra. You’re someone from home … you’re already friends. Try to find out what will make her happy.”

I could not understand him. He had always given me the impression that he believed himself capable of dealing with any situation. And here he was, almost humbly pleading for help.

I was intrigued. I had always been interested in people and their motives, the reasons why they acted as they did, the manner in which they often covered up their true intentions with subterfuge. Lilias was so different, so realistic, so practical. I really wanted to know what went on in that house. It fascinated me; Paul, the staircase, the hasty marriages, the strange death of Margarete. I could find life in the schoolhouse a little dull. What suited Lilias did not necessarily suit me, and I was not going to be as dedicated to the school as she was.

“Will you do this for me … for Myra?” he asked.

“I should very much like to help if I can.”

“Oh, you can. I know you can. Myra needs a friend. She needs you.”

I said: “It takes two to make a friendship. It may be that Myra will like to make her own.”

“But she is already your friend. She brightens at the thought of your visits. Please … Diana … come and see us often.”

“Of course I will.”

“Get her to confide in you. You can help her.”

It was then that Lilias returned.

“Two more pupils!” she cried out, then: “Oh … Mr. Lestrange.”

“And I know who they are,” he said, rising and shaking her hand. “It was I who suggested to Mrs. Garton that she should see you.”

“Thank you. How kind …”

“I am so pleased it has turned out to your satisfaction,” he said. “As a matter of fact I was just on the point of leaving. I hope you will both come and see us very soon. What about luncheon next Sunday? It has to be a Sunday, does it not?”

“Oh yes, that’s the best day because of school,” said Lilias. “I should enjoy it … and you, Diana?”

“Yes, thank you very much. It will be a great pleasure.” When he had gone, Lilias said: “Why did he call? Surely not just to ask us to lunch?”

“He’s worried about his wife.”

“Oh?”

“He thinks she’s lonely … homesick. He wants us to be friends. He really seems concerned about her.” “Well, he married her, didn’t he?” “I’ve promised I’ll go and see her more often.” Lilias nodded and said it was time we thought about getting supper.

IT WAS AFTER SCHOOL. Lilias was marking essays which she had set for the older children.

She said: “The subject was ‘The Most Important Thing That Ever Happened to Me.’ I thought that would stretch their imaginations a little. ‘The Day My Mother Gave Me Thomas, My Terrier.’ ‘A Picnic with the Wagons’ and such like. But here’s one that’s different. Paul’s. He’s got a real touch of the dramatic, that boy. It’s interesting. Here, read it.”

I took the exercise book from her and studied Paul’s clear, round handwriting.

“The Kimberley Treasure,” I read.

“The most important thing that ever happened to me was when my father found the Kimberley Treasure. The Kimberley Treasure is a diamond. It weighs eight hundred and fifty carats and that is a lot—almost more than any other diamond has weighed before. We were ever so excited when he found it because we would be rich when he sold it.

“I saw it. It looked like a lump of stone, but my father told me it was a diamond all right. I’d see when they got to polishing and working on it. My mother said, ‘Now we’re all right.’

“The others were jealous of us because they all wanted to find some big diamond that would make them rich for the rest of their lives. Then somebody said it was unlucky. Big diamonds can bring bad luck, they said. But we didn’t believe them. We thought they were just jealous because they had not found the Kimberley Treasure.

“My mother said we should sell it and give up mining. But my father said that there must be more where that came from. He wanted to be not just rich but very rich. He was sure he knew where to find another diamond like the Kimberley Treasure. He went to look for it and he was killed in the mine. So it was right about the Kimberley Treasure. It was unlucky.

“My mother cried a lot. She didn’t care about the old diamond. What was the use of it if he was dead? But she would not sell the diamond. She said he wanted to keep it so she would too.

“Then she married my stepfather and he said what was the good of keeping a diamond like that just to look at it? Diamonds were comfort and riches. So he sold the diamond and we came to Riebeeck House. He missed the bad luck because the diamond had never really been his. But my mother had owned it, so she had the bad luck. My stepfather turned the diamond into Riebeeck House, but my mother had the bad luck and so she fell down the staircase and died.

“That is why the day my father found the Kimberley Treasure was the most important in my life.”

I dropped the book and stared at Lilias.

“What an extraordinary essay!”

“I thought so. The boy has imagination and a rather powerful way of expressing it.”

“I don’t think he’s imagining that. That is just how it happened.”

“Do you think it’s true?”

“I know that his mother married Roger Lestrange soon after her husband’s death and that she died by falling down a staircase.”

“And soon after he married Myra?”

“Yes. What do you think of it?”

“That that boy has a certain talent for expressing himself.”

I SAID: “That was an interesting essay you wrote, Paul.”

His eyes lit up. “Did you like it?”

“Very much. That diamond. It must have been exciting when your father found it. You were very young then. Do you remember very much about it?”

“Oh yes. When things like that happen, it’s so important. Everybody … however young … gets to know. Everything was different.”

“Different from what?”

“From what it was before.”

“What was it like then?”

“It was nice … nicer really. We were all together … my Daddy, my Mummy and me. We were there … the three of us … and neither of them are there anymore.”

“It sometimes happens like that, Paul.”

“Did you have a mother?”

“Yes. She died.”

“How did she die?”

“She was ill for a long time … and then she died as we knew she would.”

“And your father?”

I felt myself shrink. “He … he died also.”

He said nothing for a while. Nor did I. Too many unpleasant reminders were chasing themselves round in my mind.

“They said it was unlucky,” he said at length.

“What?”

“The diamond. Diamonds can be unlucky if they’re big. I suppose it is because everybody wants them. They were all right before they found that. My father ought to have sold it. We ought to have gone away. But he had to go on looking for more just because he’d found that one. He wouldn’t have died if he hadn’t gone looking for more. He left it to my mother. So it was there and she took the bad luck with it.”

“That’s pure fancy, you know, Paul. Things like diamonds are not unlucky in themselves.”

He looked stubborn. “She had it and she kept it and a lot of people wanted it. There was another man who wanted to marry her. It was all because of the diamond.”

“How can you be sure of that?”

“I just know. And then she married him. He had the diamond then. But he sold it. And he bought Riebeeck House. But the diamond had been hers … so … she died.”

“Perhaps she was not well before she died.”

“She was well.”

“Tell me, Paul, what it is you have on your mind.”

“She died because she fell down the stairs. She was all right. Why did you think she was not well?”

I could not mention to him that she had been drinking.

He went on: “If she hadn’t had the diamond, he wouldn’t have married her. There wouldn’t have been that house. She wouldn’t have fallen down the stairs. It was all because of the diamond.” I thought he was going to burst into tears. “That’s why the most important thing in my life is the Kimberley Treasure.”

“Oh, Paul,” I said. “You mustn’t think like that. Diamonds can’t hurt anybody.”

“Not by themselves … but what they mean.”

“How could a diamond have made your mother fall down the stairs?”

“I don’t mean that the diamond did it. But because of it, someone might have …”

“What?”

“I don’t know. I only wish my father had never found it. I wish we could have gone on … finding little ones … little ones that were enough to keep us happy.”

“Paul,” I said firmly. “You have to stop brooding on this. It’s over. It isn’t going to help to go on thinking about it … making up what might have been. Try to grow away from the past. There’s so much that’s good for you. Miss Milne thinks you are going to do well at school.”

He looked at me sadly, frustration in his eyes which I knew meant: nobody understands.

I felt I had failed him. It was cowardly, but had I been afraid that he might have said too much?

Figures on a Staircase

I WENT TO SEE MYRA as Roger had suggested.

“Go in the afternoon,” Lilias had advised. “I can manage for two hours on my own. I’ll set the older ones an essay or arithmetic problems which keep them occupied and I can easily look after the others. I’ll enjoy it. It will be a challenge.”

Myra was delighted to see me and I spent a pleasant afternoon with her. She was a little reticent and I did not probe; we talked lightly, mentioning Lakemere and village affairs. I remembered some amusing incidents and was able to make her smile. When I left she begged me to come again.

When I returned to the schoolhouse Lilias said: “I don’t see why you shouldn’t go now and then. I managed very well. It’s not really difficult.”

“The fact is, you could do very well without me here.”

“Oh no. I should be desperately lonely. It’s wonderful to have you to talk things over with. In any case, I shouldn’t have come out here without you and I think it is one of the best things I ever did. John is such a good friend and so interested in the school. I’m happier than I have been for a long time. I felt so frustrated at home after that terrible affair of the necklace. But I do believe I’m getting over it now. How do you feel?”

“Oh … I don’t think I shall ever forget.”

“Yours was such a terrible ordeal, but you will get over it … in time. It’s nice that you meet people. How lucky we are that John is here to help us.”

“Yes, we are.”

“And your seeing Myra will be good for her and you. You must go again soon.”

I did and it was on my third visit that Myra began to talk a little more freely, and I felt I could ask her if she were worried about anything.

She hesitated for a while and then she said: “It’s this house. There’s something about it. Do you feel it?”

“What do you mean?”

“It’s as though it has two parts. One just an ordinary, normal sort of house … and the other that’s … haunted. Sometimes, Diana, I feel that she is still here.”

“Who?”

“Margarete … Roger’s first wife.”

“She’s dead, Myra.”

“But some people think the dead can return. Sometimes I feel … that she can’t rest. She was his wife … just as I am. I think she must have been rather like me. Quiet … not very attractive.”

“That’s being foolish. Roger must have found you attractive. He married you.”

“I feel she and I are like one person.”

“Really, Myra, you’re getting fancies. He married her and she died soon after. It was a tragic accident. These things happen.”

“I know. That’s what I tell myself. I am beginning to believe she can’t rest. When people die violent deaths, it is said that they can’t rest. They sometimes come back. Just imagine it! You are alive one moment and then … without warning… you’re dead. You’ve left everything unfinished.” She looked at me fearfully. “I should hate to go like that.”

“Why do you think of such things? You’re here. You’re healthy. And you’re by no means old. Your whole life is before you.”

“Sometimes I wonder.”

I looked at her intently. “What do you mean?”

“Oh … nothing. I suppose I’m just nervous. My mother was always telling me to pull myself together.” She laughed. “You’re reasonable, Diana.”

“Am I? Lilias thinks I am very unpractical. I’ve got a wild imagination, she says. I don’t know what she would think of you and your fancies.”

“Even my mother admired Lilias. I can’t tell you how much better I feel now you are here. And it is lovely to have our afternoons together. I look forward to them. I expect I’m like this because I haven’t been very well. Roger got a tonic for me from the doctor.”

“So the doctor has been to see you?”

“He came to dinner … he and his wife. Roger told him that I wasn’t as well as he would like me to be. I was listless and homesick. It was all natural, of course, but he wondered if the doctor could give me something to ‘buck me up.’ Well, the result was he sent round this stuff. It’s something mixed with wine … and something else, I suppose. It’s not very pleasant to take.”

“Is it doing you any good?”

“I haven’t felt much different. Your visits do me more good than the doctor’s tonic, I think.”

“Then we must continue with that medicine.”

“I’m so pleased Roger asked you to come.”

“Yes, he was really concerned about you.”

“He’s always so good to me.” She hesitated and I waited for her to go on. She bit her lips slightly and said: “He wants me to settle down, I know. I try to. You like it here, don’t you?”

“Yes. Lilias is delighted with it. It’s such a change from the village. She always wanted to teach.”

“We wondered why she gave it up.”

I thought then how difficult it was to throw off a part of your life which you wanted to forget. It kept coming back to hurt you.

“Perhaps she needed a rest,” she went on. “She had just come to the end of one post and maybe did not like the prospect of facing another—though I should have thought Lilias would always be ready to face what she had to. Oh well, I’m glad it is turning out so well for her.” She paused and went on: “What were we saying about the house? Do you know I avoid going to the part where it happened?”

“You mean … ?”

“The staircase. I always feel there is something … haunted … about it.”

“That’s your imagination.”

“Maybe, but I want you to come there with me. I want to make you understand what I feel.”

“Now, you mean?”

“Why not?”

She rose and led the way, looking over her shoulder, as though to reassure herself that I was with her.

We reached that part of the house and stood at the top of the staircase. I could see what she meant. In the first place it was dark and shadowy. There was only one small window which gave little light, even in the afternoon. It might have been due to that that one felt it was gloomy, plus the knowledge that someone, not so very long ago, had plunged to her death down that staircase.

“There,” said Myra. “I see you can feel it.”

“I was just thinking that there was so little light here.”

“It’s more than that.”

“It’s because you are thinking of what happened here.”

She moved away and said: “Come and look at the Model House. I always do when I’m in this part of the house. I find it fascinating to see the house … just as it is … though on this small scale.”

As we came up to the house she stopped short and gave a gasp of dismay. “Oh … look!” she said.

I looked. A small carved figure, which was clearly meant to represent a woman, was lying at the foot of the staircase. I thought she was going to faint … and I caught her.

“It’s only a piece of wood,” I said.

“Who put it there?”

I said: “Would you like to go to your room? You really look shaken.”

She allowed me to take her there. She was trembling visibly. I suggested she lie down and when she did so I sat beside her. She held my hand and I was sure there was something she wanted to say to me but could not bring herself to do so.

“Stay with me,” she said. “Don’t go back to the schoolhouse tonight. There’s plenty of room here. Stay.”

I was astonished. “But …” I began.

“Please … please. I want you to. It’s important to me.”

“Myra … why?”

“I just feel …” She looked so earnest, her eyes pleading more than her words. I thought: she is afraid of something. I have to help her. If I did not and something happened …

I was romancing again. What was it about this house … the staircase … the Model House? She was making me feel, as she probably did, that there were evil forces at work.

I could not leave her.

I said: “I’ll send a note to Lilias. I’ll tell her I’m staying the night.”

“Oh, thank you. Will you really? Ring the bell … please ring the bell.”

I did so and a woman arrived.

“Luban,” she said. “Will you prepare a room? On this floor please. Miss Grey is staying the night.”

Luban was a lithe youngish woman; her skin was black as ebony and her large dark eyes seemed to hold some tragedy. I remembered that she was the mother of the deaf-mute I had seen on my previous visit, and I guessed that her air of sadness might have something to do with that poor boy.

“I must send a note to Lilias at once,” I said.

Myra found a pen and paper and I sat down and wrote:

Dear Lilias,

Myra wants me to stay the night. She is not very well and I think it is rather important to her. I hope that will be all right.

DIANA

Luban took the note and said it would be sent at once.

I was still in a state of amazement that I had fallen into this situation. It was only when I received Lilias’ note that I realised that it was not so extraordinary, after all.

Of course, it is all right, [she had written]. I’m sorry Myra is not well. Give her my best wishes.

LILIAS

As usual she brought calm common sense into the matter.

Nevertheless that night I spent at Riebeeck House was an uneasy one. I had dinner in Myra’s room as she said she did not feel well enough to leave it. Roger joined us. He seemed very pleased to see me there.

“This is delightful,” he said. “It was so good of you to stay with Myra. I am sure you are very grateful to … er … Diana, Myra.”

Why did he stumble over my name? I wondered. It was almost as though he knew it was not my true one.

Myra said that she was grateful and it was delightful to have me there.

“And this faintness?” he went on in deep concern.

“It was nothing. Just the heat, I suppose. I’m not accustomed to it yet.”

“Do you think we ought to consult the doctor?”

“Oh no … no.”

“Have you been taking your tonic?”

“Yes.”

“Well, we shall see. If you have any more attacks like this I am going to insist on your seeing the doctor.” He smiled at me. “You and I will take care of her, won’t we, Diana?”

“She will soon be well, I am sure.”

When I was alone in my room that night I found myself going over what had been said that evening. Roger Lestrange did seem to be a devoted husband, but, as always, I could not be sure of him. I wondered why he hesitated over my name. It really did seem as though he knew it were not mine.

I must talk to Lilias. She would soon drive away my misgivings. But Lilias was not here, and I was in a strange bed in a house which Myra thought was haunted.

There were times during that restless night when I had an idea that I was being caught up in something mysterious, perhaps sinister, which I could not understand.

WHEN I AWOKE next morning I could not for the moment recall where I was. I sat up in bed startled: and then when I looked at the unfamiliar Dutch-style furniture I realised I was in Riebeeck House and I recalled the events of last night.

After a while Luban came in with hot water.

“Mrs. Lestrange was ill in the night,” she told me, in her melancholy sounding singsongy voice. “She very sick. Mr. Lestrange … he very worried.”

“Oh dear! She is better now?”

“Yes. Yes … better now.”

After she had gone I washed and dressed. Poor Myra! She was rather delicate, I supposed. It was not easy to uproot oneself and live in another country; and she had been terribly upset by that little figure in the Model House. I wondered who had put it there and why. Was it meant to represent Margarete? I supposed so, as it was lying at the foot of the staircase. It was a mischievous thing to do. I wondered if Paul had had a hand in it.

I went downstairs. The breakfast things were set out on the table, but there was no one there. I stepped out onto the stoop and walked down the steps to the garden. I was struck afresh by the lush beauty of the place. It seemed particularly delightful in the early morning. The sun was not yet too hot; everything seemed fresh; the scent of the flowers was almost overpowering and there was a murmur of insects in the air.

As I stood there Roger Lestrange came out.

“Good morning,” he said. “It was good of you to stay last night.”

“I felt a little guilty about leaving Lilias.”

“Lilias is quite capable of looking after herself.”

“I know. How is Myra? I heard from one of the servants that she was not well during the night.”

“She is better this morning, thanks. Who told you she had been ill?”

“It was the one who brought my hot water. Luban, I think.”

“She must have heard from Mrs. Prost. Luban doesn’t live in the house. She is with her husband and family in one of the rondavels.”

“Yes, I know. I did go out there and saw them once.”

“Yes, I had to call Mrs. Prost in the night. I was worried about Myra.”

“So it was as bad as that?”

“I wasn’t sure. I don’t know much about illness. I’m worried about her … Myra, I mean. What do you think?”

“I think she’s taking a little time to adjust to this new life. After all, she lived so long in that village and this is all very different. In time she will settle down.”

“Do you think so?” He sounded relieved. “She has never been ill like that before. She’s had her headaches, but she was sick … really ill. I was really alarmed. I thought of sending for a doctor … but she begged me not to. And then she began to recover a little. She probably ate something which did not agree with her.”

“Oh, maybe that was it. I know the heat can be very trying to people who are not used to it. I daresay she will soon be all right.”

“I was just wondering if I should get the doctor to have a look at her.”

“I should see how she feels.”

“You are a comfort, D-Diana.”

“I’m glad. I think she was rather upset by that figure in the Model House.”

“Figure? What figure?”

“A carved figure. It was supposed to be a woman, I think.”

“In the Model House?”

“Yes. I was with her. She was showing me one or two things about the house and there it was …”

“What was it like?”

“Oh, rather crudely carved.”

“Native work?”

“I suppose it could be. It was there at the foot of the staircase … not the spiral one, the other.”

His face had darkened. He muttered: “Who, in God’s name, could have put it there?”

“Myra had no idea. It was … just there.”

“Show me,” he said rather fiercely. “Show me exactly where it is.”

He went hurriedly into the house and I followed him. Swiftly we passed through to the other end of the house.

The figure was no longer in the Model House.

“Where is it?” he cried. “Show me.”

“It’s gone. It was lying there … just there, at the bottom of the staircase.”

For a few moments he did not speak. I had never before seen him at a loss for words. Then he said slowly: “It was that spot where we found her. Someone … is playing some silly joke. We must find out who.”

“Well,” I said, “it upset her. I thought she was going to faint. That was when I took her back to her room.”

He had recovered, but the colour had faded from his face and he looked rather pale.

“Thank you, Diana,” he said; and I noticed he used my name without the usual hesitation. “Thank you for looking after her.”

We walked to the other side of the house and descended the spiral staircase. “Don’t mention the figure to anyone. It might upset people.”

I said I wouldn’t.

Myra joined us for breakfast. She told us she was feeling considerably better.

“I thought I was going to die in the night,” she said.

“Oh come, my dear,” replied Roger. “You know I wouldn’t allow that.”

She laughed. She seemed quite happy.

“Thank you so much for staying, Diana. I did feel comforted to have you there. You will come and … and . .’ . stay again, won’t you?”

“/ am going to insist that she does,” added Roger.

WHEN I RETURNED to the schoolhouse it was to find that two letters had arrived. One of them was from Ninian, the other from Zillah.

Ninian began by saying that we should come home without delay.

Things are getting worse and I can see no solution to the problem but war. Chamberlain and Milner are going to reject this five years’ franchise suggested by Kruger and Smuts. It is only to be expected. Those who contribute so largely to the wealth of the country cannot be denied a say in its affairs. The British foray into South Africa some years ago was something of a humiliation for us. We cannot allow that to happen again. There is a rumour that Chamberlain is sending ten thousand troops to augment the army already there. You must realise what, a dangerous situation is brewing. There is time. You cannot have settled in very firmly yet. You and Miss Milne should get the next ship back to England while there is time.

He had clearly not received my letter as he had made no mention of it.

I reread his letter. It contained little else but the need for us to come home.

I turned to Zillah’s. Hers was more lighthearted.

I hope you are getting on all right. Ninian Grainger goes on and on about the trouble out there. He is certain you ought to come home. He asks me to write and add my persuasion to his. So I will. I miss you. Life is rather dull here. I think I shall travel a bit. I’ve been to London several times, but I mean go abroad. I think that would be fun. Wouldn’t it be nice if you were here? We could go together. I hope you will soon be home. We could have fun.

I showed Lilias Ninian’s letter. She read it and frowned.

“Go home!” she said. “Of course we won’t. Just as the school is beginning to expand. It’s doing us so much good here. The people are nice to us. They don’t want to make war on us. This insistence of his is almost hysterical.”

“People in Kimberley are mainly British.”

“But the Boers and the natives … they are all very friendly.”

“Well, it wouldn’t be our war … yours and mine, Lilias.”

“You’re not hankering after going back, are you?”

I hesitated. I was thinking how kind and thoughtful Ninian was. I liked what Lilias called his hysterical insistence. It surprised and comforted me that after all this time I was still more than an ordinary case to him. I should love to talk to him and it saddened me that we were so far apart. So perhaps the answer was yes, I was hankering after going home.

I believe that if I had not suffered such bitter disillusionment over Jamie, if Ninian had not shown such an interest in Zillah, I might have faced my true feelings towards him. But having been so deceived, how could I be judge … even of myself? Perhaps I had been in a bewildered state since the trial.

“Are you?” Lilias was demanding.

“Well … we do seem to be settling in here, I suppose.”

“And you are so much better. I know you are. You don’t jump every time someone mentions something from the past.”

“No, I suppose I don’t.”

“What are you going to do? Write to him?”

“I suppose so … in due course.”

She nodded. “Tell him that these matters are exaggerated. Everything is just the same out here as when we came.”

“Yes, I will.” Lilias was right. We could not pack up and go home at a moment’s notice just because Ninian … miles away … had heard rumours of war.

I WAS BECOMING a frequent visitor to Riebeeck House. Sometimes I stayed the night. Lilias did not mind that; I felt she rather enjoyed dealing with all the pupils; and I was realising more and more that my presence in the school could be easily dispensed with. Lilias was delighted to have paid off the first instalment to the Emigration Society. I said that as I was taking more and more time off to be with Myra I did not deserve what I was paid and it should be hers. But she was adamant. “That matter is closed,” she said.

Meanwhile I was becoming well acquainted with the Lestrange household. Paul and I were good friends. He liked school and was doing very well; and although I sensed that he still bore a grudge against his stepfather for marrying his mother, he seemed to be accepting it. Roger was always charming to me, as he was with everyone. The servants all liked him; and I gathered that the house was a more pleasant place than it had been under the Riebeecks.

Mrs. Prost, the housekeeper, appeared to take quite an interest in me. She was a woman who liked to gossip; and I must confess, so did I.

A strong friendship was growing between Myra and me and I fancied that she was less nervous. Mrs. Prost said my visits did her a power of good. I stayed a night or two occasionally. We played chess together. Lilias had taught me and I taught Myra. She was becoming quite an enthusiast.

There was one day when Roger went to Johannesburg on business and he asked me if I would spend the night at the house to keep Myra company. I said I would and we spent a pleasant evening chatting and playing chess.

In the night Mrs. Prost came to my room to tell me that Mrs. Lestrange was ill and she needed my help with her. I went with her to Myra who was very sick.

After a while she recovered and I said I would stay with her, which I did. I was very relieved when, in the morning, she was considerably better.

She took great pains to make light of her disorder.

“Don’t tell Roger,” she said. “I’m glad it happened when he was away. He doesn’t like illness … and he worries about it too much.”

“Perhaps he ought to know,” I said. “Perhaps we ought to call the doctor.”

“Oh no … no. That’s the last thing. I tell you I’m perfectly all right. It was just something I ate … something that didn’t agree with me. I’m going to be all right now.”

She did admit to feeling a little tired and said she would spend the morning in bed.

While she was resting I went down to Mrs. Prost’s sitting room.

“Do you think it was something she had eaten?” I asked the housekeeper.

Mrs. Prost was a little shocked.

“Cook wouldn’t be very pleased to hear that, Miss Grey.”

“Well, certain things upset some people. It may be something that she just can’t take.”

“I don’t know, I’m sure. But I reckon we ought to be watchful. She was really bad. She frightened me. I was glad you were here … Mr. Lestrange being away.”

She told me it was a different household from what it used to be. “When the Riebeecks were here … my goodness. You had to be all right and proper then, I can tell you.”

“You must know this house very well, Mrs. Prost.”

“I was here before I was married. Then my husband and I … we were both here together. He was a butler and I was a housemaid when we met … and I stayed on when we were married. It worked well, the pair of us … and then he died … a heart attack. Very sudden. And I stayed on.”

“That all happened when the Riebeecks were here, of course.”

“We never thought there’d be change. The house had been in the Riebeeck family for years … about two hundred, I think. Very strict they are … Boers … I know because Mr. Prost was one of them. My family came out when I was a little girl. And once you’re English, you’re always English, and though I married Mr. Prost I was never one of them … if you know what I mean.”

“It must have been a great shock when the Riebeecks decided to sell the house.”

“You can say that again! It was all this trouble that’s been going on for ten years or more. The British and the Boers. It went badly for the British, but old Mr. Riebeeck said it wouldn’t end there. There’d be more trouble and he didn’t like the look of things. The British would never let things stay as they were, so he thought he’d get out while the going was good. He’d always been back and forth to Holland … something to do with business. He was more Dutch than anything else … and I suppose, getting old, he had this hankering for going home. So he just sold Riebeeck House, lock, stock and barrel.”

“All the furniture and everything … and the Model House.”

“Yes, that and all. The lot. So it’s all just as it used to be as far as that goes. Well, Mr. Lestrange, he’d just got married to Margarete Van Der Vroon.”

“So you were here when all that happened!”

“Of course I was. I can tell you there was quite a stir in the town when Jacob Van Der Vroon found that diamond. They reckoned it was one of the biggest finds, not only in Kimberley but in the whole of South Africa.”

“Did you know the Van Der Vroons?”

“No … not really. I didn’t know any of the miners. They lived in one of those places near the mine … more like huts than houses. No, I can’t say I knew them. What a find, though! The whole town was buzzing with it. They were nothing and then overnight …”

“Paul was quite a child then. I was surprised to hear he was not Mr. Lestrange’s son.”

“Oh, Mr. Lestrange is such a good man. He tries to be a father to that boy. He’s put up with quite a lot from him. When I think of all he’s done for that boy …”

“Poor Paul. He remembers his father and a child can’t be expected to switch fathers just when he is told to.”

“All the same, I think young Paul ought to be a little more grateful. But Mr. Lestrange makes the best of it. It was a bit of luck for Margarete Van Der Vroon that she got such a man.”

“I didn’t think she was very lucky. Didn’t she die soon after?”

“Oh, a tragic accident, that was. Poor Mr. Lestrange. He was heartbroken. They’d only been married a year. I used to think how lucky she was. To come to a lovely house like this with a man like Mr. Lestrange as her husband. She’d never had much before, I can tell you. They bought this house soon after they married. It fitted in nicely. The Riebeecks leaving everything like … the house and all the furniture that went with it. A ready-made home for them, all waiting.”

“I heard that.”

“And Mr. Lestrange was here with his bride. It must have been an eye-opener for her … after living in one of those little places … and Paul a little boy who’d lost his father, now to have another who’d look after him. There she was … a frightened little thing when she found herself left a widow … but a widow with something worthwhile … this Kimberley Treasure as they call it. There were one or two after her … or shall I say after the diamond. Mr. Lestrange was different. He had money of his own. He just fell in love with her. I think it was because she was a poor helpless little thing. It touched him somehow … and that sort of thing can lead to love. The present Mrs. Lestrange is rather like that. He’s a tender-hearted man, is Mr. Lestrange.”

“You admire him very much.”

“Anyone would who’d worked for the Riebeecks. They are as different as chalk from cheese.”

“The marriage didn’t last long. There was that dreadful accident.”

Her voice sank to a whisper. “I think she drank … too much.”

“Oh?”

“Mr. Lestrange was upset about that. He didn’t want a slur on her memory. But I think what happened that night was that she had been drinking too much … she didn’t see the top step … and down she went and killed herself.”

She paused, clearly upset at the memory.

I said: “Who found her?”

“I did. I was the one. It was early morning. I just went down to see her. I’d just gone to see that everything was all right, as I did most mornings, and there she was … lying on the floor. All twisted up. It was a terrible shock.”

“It must have been. How long had she been there?”

“Since the early hours of the morning, they said.”

“And Mr. Lestrange?”

“When he woke she wasn’t there. He thought she’d got up early as she sometimes did. She’d get up without him being aware. She’d go down to the garden. She loved the garden … then they’d meet for breakfast.”

“What did you do?”

“I ran up to their room and knocked on the door. Mr. Lestrange was asleep. I went in. I couldn’t stop myself. I cried out, ‘It’s Mrs. Lestrange. She’s lying at the foot of the stairs and she looks … she looks …’ He stumbled out in his dressing gown and we went together. It was just terrible. We knew she was dead. He was so shocked. All he could say was ‘Margarete … Margarete’ just like that. I’ve never seen a man so shocked. He was very upset he was … heartbroken.”

“He soon married again.”

“Well, there’s some men who have to have a wife … lost without one. And the present Mrs. Lestrange … well, she reminds me of the first. She’s gentle. Not very sure of herself … and very much in love with her husband. Of course, Mrs. Myra has been brought up as a lady. You couldn’t really say that of the other … dead though she is. She wasn’t exactly a lady … but there’s something similar about them …”

“I think I understand what you mean.”

I came away from that conversation feeling that Roger Lestrange must be a very good master to arouse such admiration and loyalty in his servants.

THERE WAS A CERTAIN TENSION in the streets. Trouble was coming. Everyone was talking of it and speculating what the outcome would be. Negotiations were ensuing between Paul Kruger and Jan Smuts on one side and Joseph Chamberlain and the High Commissioner Sir Alfred Milner on the other. There was deadlock while we all waited for the result.

There were changes in the town. The garrison was being strengthened and one saw more and more soldiers in the streets. There were other new faces. The Afrikaners were coming into the town. I heard their voices, saw their faces … stern, weather-beaten, determined.

I had discovered during my brief spell in South Africa that most of the Boers were farmers, whereas the Uitlanders had settled in the towns. The latter were the people who had come to find diamonds and gold and had set up the banks and official buildings, changing the entire aspect of the place.

“It is small wonder,” said Lilias, “that they will not tolerate being deprived of taking part in government.”

It was in October of that year 1899—the last of the century— when the storm broke and South Africa was at war with Britain.

When school was over John Dale came to see us.

He was very concerned. “I don’t know what this is going to mean,” he said.

“Surely these people will not be able to stand out,” replied Lilias. “They will be subdued in a week.”

John was not so sure. “It’s difficult terrain and the Boers are familiar with it. Moreover it is not easy to fight so far away from home.”

“We shall have the men.”

“There are not so many British forces here now.”

“More will surely be sent. Why, ten thousand came not so long ago.”

“We shall have superior arms, of course, and well trained men. The Boers are only farmers … part-time soldiers, but remember they are fighting on territory they know, and which they regard as theirs. I have an uneasy feeling that it is not going to be as easy as some seem to think.” He looked from Lilias to me, the anxiety in his eyes obvious. “It was all going so well,” he said ruefully. “But perhaps you should not have come.”

Lilias smiled at him. “I don’t regret it,” she said. “I never shall.”

He returned her smile rather sadly, I thought. Then he said: “The town is already different. It’s full of strangers. They are getting ready to take it over when the time comes.”

“It would not be for long,” said Lilias.

“What difference will it make to us?” I asked.

“I don’t know. We shall be regarded as the enemy, perhaps.”

“Most of the people in the town are what they call Uitlanders.”

John lifted his shoulders. “We shall have to see,” he said.

We attempted to go on with our lives as we normally did. But we were all so uncertain and when news began to filter through of the Boers’ triumphs over the British our hopes for an early end of the war deserted us.

Roger Lestrange, John Dale and most able-bodied men joined the garrison, for it looked as though it might be necessary to defend the town. The Boers might be farmers, unaccustomed to urban life, but they were shrewd and would recognise the importance of a prosperous town such as Kimberley. They would surely attempt to capture it.

It was early November, approaching the height of summer in South Africa, and the weather was almost unbearably hot.

Myra seemed to be growing weaker. She admitted to me that she had periodic bouts of illness.

“I feel quite weak,” she said. “I don’t feel any desire to eat. Of course, if there is a siege we shall all have to go short of things, I suppose.”

“I expect so,” I replied. “But in the meantime we are trying to keep everything normal. The children are coming to school and life goes on.”

One afternoon I went to Riebeeck House and I found Myra in a state verging on hysteria.

I went to her bedroom. She and Roger had separate rooms now. She had told me that she preferred it because she was worried about being restless in the night.

“What is it, Myra? Would you rather tell me … or …”

“I want to tell you,” she said. “I’m being foolish, I think. But it really frightened me. It’s uncanny.”

“Yes?” I prompted.

“It was in the Model House. I know I shouldn’t go there. It upsets me after I saw that other figure. But this … it was there. It looked so real … I just stared at it. What does it mean?”

“But tell me what you saw.”

“It was those carved figures. It was so like … something that happened. You could imagine it.”

“But what actually did you see?”

“It was the figure of a man cut out of wood … and in his hands he was holding …” She shivered and buried her face in her hands.

“What was he carrying, Myra? You must tell me.”

“He was carrying a woman. Holding her up. Just as though he were going to throw her down the stairs.”

“Oh no,” I murmured.

She looked at me fearfully. “It was awful. Because she … Margarete had fallen down the stairs … I just ran away … screaming. I couldn’t help it. It was because … it seemed to mean something. Roger was there. He tried to comfort me. It was some time before I could tell him what I had seen. He went there then … I followed him. I was afraid that the figures might not be there and it would seem that I had imagined the whole thing.”

“And were they there?”

“Yes … he saw them.”

“What … did he do?”

“He picked it up and broke it. He was so angry because it had upset me so much. He held it in his hand, just looking at it for a moment. Then he put it back, but it wouldn’t stand up. He laid it on the top of the staircase; then he put his arm round me and took me back to my bedroom. He said some person was playing silly tricks and he was going to find out who … and whoever it was would no longer be a member of his household.”

“And he did not find out?”

She shook her head. “Oh, he is so kind to me, Diana. He made me lie down. He said it was all nonsense … nothing to worry about. It was just silly and the only reason why he was so angry was because it had upset me.”

“Who, do you think, would do such a thing?”

“We don’t know. Roger tried to find out. He summoned all the servants to the library and he asked the one who had done it to own up. Who was it who had thought it was amusing to put figures in the Model House? That house was not to be touched by any of them … except those who were to dust it under the supervision of Mrs. Prost.”

“Did anyone own up?”

“No one. But Roger is going to find out. He is determined to.”

“Myra, why should anyone do such a thing?”

“I don’t know.”

“They would have to go to the trouble of carving the figures in the first place and getting up there …”

“I think it was someone trying to frighten me.”

“With little figures like that?”

“I don’t understand.”

“Tell me what’s in your mind, Myra. Why are you so frightened?”

“It’s because of that staircase. I think someone is saying that Margarete did not fall down the stairs because she had been drinking too much … I think they are saying it was not an accident.”

“And you wonder whether …”

“I sometimes feel the figures in the Model House are meant to be a warning …”

“Oh, Myra!”

“I’m afraid to go near that staircase. But there is a sort of compulsion to go there. It is as though someone … is luring me there.”

“Someone?”

“It sounds silly, but strange things do happen. Roger is a very attractive man, isn’t he, and I … well, I’m rather insignificant. It is rather miraculous that a man such as he is should want to marry me.”

“He did marry you, Myra. He must have wanted to.”

“I thought that Margarete might be a little … jealous.”

“But she’s dead!”

“They say that sometimes the dead return. And we are in the same house. Just imagine! She was happy here with him. She had never been happy like that before.”

“Paul says they were a very happy family when his father was alive.”

“But he wouldn’t understand the sort of love she had for Roger. In this house I can believe the past lives on, and I think that she is there waiting to separate us … to lure me to my death …”

“Really, Myra, that’s nonsense.”

“I know. But I am just telling you my feelings.”

“Well, she couldn’t make carvings and put them in the Model House to frighten you, could she? And how is that going to lure you to fall down the stairs?”

“I go there sometimes. I stand at the top and think of her plunging down.”

“Look here, Myra, you’re not yourself. These attacks have been weakening you. They’ve given you odd dreams and fancies … hallucinations perhaps. You’ve got to get back to normal. No ghost can make you do what you don’t want to, nor can it put figures in certain places. Promise me you won’t go wandering round this part of the house alone.”

“I promise,” she said.

I was very worried about her. I talked of it to Lilias. It was a change from the perpetual topic of the war, but, to me, it was almost as alarming.

“She must be losing her mind,” said Lilias in her practical way. “They used to say in the village that Myra was a little simple.”

“She’s not simple … just nervous. She has never been confident in herself. That’s quite different.”

“You don’t think she is secretly drinking, do you?”

“I did wonder that. It could give her fancies.”

“It might well. It looks to me as though that’s the answer.”

“But there is no doubt that the figures were there. Roger saw them.”

“I must admit this is an odd business.”

“You see, first there was a figure lying at the bottom of the staircase, and now these more intricate ones of a man holding a woman and preparing to throw her down.”

“I can only suggest one thing.”

I nodded.

“That he pushed her down the stairs.”

“Or someone did.”

“Well, she did have that diamond which was worth a fortune. And he had married her rather promptly. Someone may have a grudge against him.”

“I wonder who?”

“Well, there are more important things to occupy us at the moment. I was wondering how long we can go on like this. They are all around us. Oh yes, we certainly have other things to think about than little carved figures.”

THE NEWS which filtered in to us continued to be disquieting. The quick and easy victory expected by the British was not forthcoming.

There was an old music hall song which I remembered from my youth and at the start of the conflict it had been revived again. I had heard people singing it in Kimberley when there was talk of war.

We don’t want to fight

But by Jingo if we do

We’ve got the men, we’ve got the ships

We’ve got the money, too.

Somehow now it had a hollow ring. The stark realities of war were different from the dreams of glory.

Depression was descending upon us. The war had started in October and December had come; so far there had been no news of any success. Rather it had been the other way.

I sensed an air of triumph among the Boers in Kimberley.

We did not communicate with them; there was suspicion between us, for how did we know who among us were not spies?

Those were difficult weeks. Several people were leaving the towns—young men who wanted to go and fight.

One day when I went to Riebeeck House I saw Njuba in the gardens.

I said to him: “Is anything wrong?” for there was a look of abject misery on his face.

“My boy … he gone,” he said.

“Umgala!” I cried. “Where has he gone?”

“I do not know, Missee. He just gone. He not home all night.”

“He can’t have gone far. What could a boy like Umgala want to leave home for?”

“He good boy. No speak … no hear … but good boy.”

“I know,” I said. “How long has he been gone?”

“Only one night … one day.”

“Has anyone tried to find him?”

“I ask Massa. He say we try find. But many go now … say Massa. Perhaps Umgala, too.”

“I am sure he will come back, Njuba.”

“I know …” He tapped his chest. “I feel here, Missee. He gone. He no come back.”

I left the poor man shaking his head.

When I saw Paul he was very upset. He said: “Umgala’s run away.”

“His father told me he’d gone.”

“Where could he go to? He can’t speak. Besides, who would he fight for? Whose side would he be on?”

“He’s a strange boy, Paul. He may have had some reason for going.”

“I know him. He didn’t want to run away.”

“Well, it seems he has. There are lots of people slipping out of this town, Paul. We live in strange times.”

“I wish they’d stop this silly old war.”

“I am sure most people feel the same,” I said.

It was the next day when Roger talked to me. I was coming to the house to see Myra when he intercepted me in the garden.

“I wanted to talk to you, D-Diana,” he said. “Things’re coming to a climax. The Boers are doing well. They’ll be taking over the town soon.”

“Surely it can’t go on? There must be change soon.”

“In time perhaps … but not yet. I wanted to tell you that I am leaving tonight.”

“Leaving? For where?”

“I can’t tell you that.”

“You mean … some secret mission … ?”

“We need more reinforcements. The Boer commandos are getting close. We’ve got to get help. I’m going to see what can be done.”

“So … you leave tonight?”

He nodded. “I want you to look after Myra. I’m so worried about her. She is really in a nervous state.”

“I know.”

“I wonder if you would mind staying with her some nights. You know … when she is not so well. With things as they are …”

“Of course, I will do what I can.”

“I’ve spoken to the doctor. He thinks it’s largely in the mind. She’s finding it difficult to adjust. He’s given her that tonic.”

“It doesn’t seem to be doing her much good.”

“Dr. Middleburg said it would take time. This … er … upheaval has been too much for her.”

“You mean … marriage?”

He smiled at me. “Oh no. I didn’t mean that. God knows, I’ve done my best to make her happy. It’s the strange country … leaving home … and just as we were settling down, all this blows up. Will you persuade her to go on with the tonic? I think she hasn’t been taking it regularly and that is why it hasn’t been as effective as we hoped. Would you see that she takes it as prescribed?”

“I’ll do what I can.”

“Good. I am sure this will soon be over, and we can get back to normal.”

“Do you really think so?”

“Before long we shall have them on their knees. It’s inevitable. It’s just at first that there are difficulties to overcome. The Boers are a stubborn race; and they think they have God on their side.”

“Don’t they all think that?”

“I suppose so, but there is a fervency about these commandos.”

“Perhaps that is because it is their home and this is where they live. They don’t want anyone to take it from them.”

“As they took it from others?”

“Oh yes, of course. Well, that was a long time ago and the place where people have lived for generations means something special to them. To us it is a gold mine … a country worthy of development … another jewel in the Crown of Empire.”

“You are very eloquent, but we all agree on one thing: we want this war over so that we can return to our normal way of life. Please … look after Myra for me.”

“I will do everything in my power.”

“Thank you. Now I can feel more at peace.”

He left Kimberley that night, and two days later we were a town under siege.

CHAOS REIGNED for the next few days. Rumours flew round the town. The Boer commandos were a mile away and advancing on us. They had decided not to take Kimberley and were surrounding the place. We did not know what to believe.

People came out into the streets and stood in little groups huddled together … watchful, fearful. They went into their houses … gathering their families together. Then the streets were deserted. It changed from hour to hour, and nobody knew what was really happening.

Then the refugees from the outlying districts came straggling into the town … exhausted … some needing medical attention as they stumbled in with more tales to tell. Soldiers from the garrison patrolled the streets. Everyone was alert for the approach of the Boers.

The town was well defended, said some.

Siege

It would never stand up to an onslaught, said others.

Under the cover of darkness several men who had managed to break through the commando forces arrived. Some of them were wounded and the hospitals were full and all the doctors of the town were working there.

Life had changed completely.

It was during those first days that, in spite of what was happening in the town, my mind was completely diverted from the uncertainty which hung over us all by the events at Riebeeck House.

A messenger came from Mrs. Prost. She was sorry to bother me at such a time when we were all so worried, but Mrs. Lestrange was very ill and she was asking for me. Could I come to the house?

I went at once.

Mrs. Prost greeted me eagerly. “She’s in a terrible way,” she said. “I’ve sent for the doctor, but he’s not there. I expect he’s at the hospital. I thought I’d better wait a bit … things being as they are. I don’t know … she seems to me to have lost her senses.”

“Take me up to her.”

“Yes … of course. I thought I’d better warn you.”

In spite of the warning I was deeply shocked. I hardly recognised Myra. Her eyes were wild, her pupils dilated. She stared up when she saw me.

“Who are you?” she said. And then: “Oh yes … yes. It’s Diana. Diana, send her away … send her away.”

I looked at Mrs. Prost who nodded her head towards the window. Myra was staring straight at it.

“She sees something there,” whispered Mrs. Prost.

I said: “It’s all right, Myra. There is no one here except Mrs. Prost and me.”

“Stay,” she begged. “Don’t go. Or … she’ll come back.”

I went to the bed and put my arm round her.

“You’ll stay with me?” she pleaded.

“I will. Of course I’ll stay.”

She lay back against me and closed her eyes. She was murmuring something which I could not hear.

Mrs. Prost looked at me. “I’ll leave you with her. I’ll send for the doctor again. Let me know if you want me.”

She went out.

Myra lay still, her eyes closed. She was breathing heavily.

She opened her eyes suddenly. “Diana,” she said.

“I’m here. I’m going to stay, Myra. As long as you want me, I’ll stay.”

That seemed to please her. She took my hand and gripped it.

“She was there,” she murmured. “She kept looking at me. She beckoned.”

“Who was there?”

“Margarete,” she said.

“She’s dead.”

“I know. She came back.”

“It must have been someone else you saw.”

“No. It was Margarete. She was jealous, you see. She had lost him. He was mine now. She couldn’t bear it. She wanted me to die.”

“Margarete is dead, Myra. And you are here.”

“But I am going to die.”

“Of course you are not.”

“Who’ll stop me?”

“I shall,” I said. “I’m going to look after you.”

“Roger looked after me. He was so good … so kind. I wasn’t good enough for him, but he never showed it. I was always afraid …”

I said: “I know.”

“He wanted me to be well. He said: ‘Take your tonic. Make sure you take it. It’ll do you good.’ And I did. I didn’t miss …”

Her eyes went to the little table at the side of the bed. The bottle was there. It was about half full.

“So you have been taking it regularly?”

“I promised him I would.”

“He asked me to impress on you the need to take it regularly while he was away.”

“He cares for me. He really does. It shows …”

“Well then, Myra, you are a lucky woman. And you must get better.”

“I try. I do take my tonic … just the same as though he were here.”

“I’m sure you do. Myra, suppose you try to sleep a little.”

“If I sleep you’ll go away … and if you go away she’ll come back.”

“I shall not go away and she will not come back. Myra, she isn’t here. She’s something you’ve dreamed about and she doesn’t exist except in your imagination.”

She shook her head and I saw a tear seep out of her closed eyes.

“Try to sleep,” I said.

“Promise to stay.”

“I will. I shall be here when you wake.”

She smiled and I was surprised that she was soon asleep.

I studied her face. It was pale and drawn. She was very different from the young woman I had first seen in Lakemere. True, she had been reserved, uncertain, overawed by her authoritative mother, but how different from the poor haunted creature in this bed.

She was gripping my hand and I was getting a pins and needles sensation in it; I managed to release it without waking her.

I went to the window and looked out. How peaceful it seemed. It looked just as it had when I had first seen it. It was hard to believe there was so much change all around us.

What would happen to us within the next few months? I wondered. I thought of the great sieges of the past which I had heard of. The Siege of Orleans, when Joan of Arc had taken the city and brought it back to the French, putting new heart into them; the Siege of Paris which was not so very long ago. What was it like living under siege? Food grew short, of course. There would be no means of getting new supplies. People died of hunger. I had heard that some of them had been reduced to eating dogs and rats. The thought was nauseating. This was different. We were being besieged by a handful of commandos … guerrilla troops, not trained for fighting … farmers, most of them. They could not last long against the trained British Army. We should be relieved very soon.

And Myra. Poor Myra. She had been happy. She had married a most attractive man; she had come to a new country; and now she was in this state. She had not believed that such happiness as she envisaged with Roger Lestrange could ever have been hers. She had not thought herself worthy of him. Her mother had made her feel her inferiority. Poor Myra, who was accepted because she was an Ellington … and because she had a fortune of her own.

I went back to the bed and looked down on her sleeping face.

A light tap on the door startled me. I moved too quickly and in doing so overturned the small bedside table. I tried to grasp the bottle, but it was too late. Myra’s tonic was running over the carpet surrounded by specks of glass.

Mrs. Prost came into the room.

“Look what’s happened,” I said.

“Oh dear. I’ll send someone to clear it up. It’s Mrs. Lestrange’s tonic, isn’t it?”

“Yes, I’m afraid so. We shall have to get some more. I thought perhaps you’d brought the doctor.”

“There’s no hope of getting him just yet. The doctors are so busy at the hospital. A little party of men managed to get through last night and some of them are badly wounded. We’ll try again later. How is she?”

“She’s sleeping.”

“Poor lady.” Mrs. Prost shook her head.

“I’m terribly sorry about the mess,” I said. “It was careless of me. And then there’s the tonic …”

“Never mind. It’s just the tonic. The doctor will give her some more though … when we get hold of him.”

“I hope she’ll be all right without it for a little while.”

“Oh, it won’t be for long. I daresay we’ll be able to get that. Even if he can’t come … he can give her that. These are terrible times. You’ll be staying here for a while, I expect, Miss Grey.”

“I promised I would. Could you send someone over to the schoolhouse to explain to Miss Milne that I may be here for a few days?”

“I’ll certainly do that and I’ll send someone up to clear that mess. I don’t like broken glass lying about.”

“I do hope she’ll be able to get some more soon.”

“That’ll be all right, I’m sure. We’ll do our best anyway. Can’t do more than that.”

I stayed with Myra all through the day. She slept a great deal of the time, and as soon as she opened her eyes she looked for me. I saw the relief when she was assured that I was still there.

“I feel safe,” she said. “She can’t do anything when you’re there … because you can’t see her and you don’t believe she’s there, do you? She’s only there in my mind. That’s it, isn’t it?”

“Yes,” I said. “That’s it.”

“Then please stay.”

“I have promised I will.”

“All night?”

“Yes. I shall be here. I have sent a note to Lilias.”

That comforted her.

I spent the night in her room, sitting in a chair by the bed, dozing fitfully. Her looks had alarmed me so much that I wondered whether she would live through the night.

I was relieved when the dawn came and I looked at her in the clear morning light.

She was breathing more easily and she seemed more peaceful.

Mrs. Prost brought me coffee and bread and butter.

“Not very much,” she apologised. “But we have to go carefully. I don’t know what things are coming to. How is she?”

“She’s had a quiet night.”

“She’s better when you’re here. I’ll send something up for her if she wants it. She’s been turning away from food. A nice bit of porridge would be good for her. There are some oats left. Goodness knows when we’ll get the next.”

“I’ll let you know when she wakes and we’ll see if we can get her to eat something.”

“And I’ll send someone to see if we can get hold of that doctor. She’ll need her medicine.”

“Oh yes. It was careless of me.”

“Accidents will happen. Well, let me know when she wakes.”

She left me. The coffee and food tasted good. I thought: we are beginning to appreciate food now that we realise we may not have it for much longer.

It was about ten o’clock when Myra awoke. I had determined to be there when she did and I was glad, for her eyes alighted on me immediately, and she said: “Oh, Diana. I’m so glad you are here.”

“How are you? You’ve had a good night’s sleep.”

“Is it morning then?”

“Yes, ten o’clock.”

“I’ve slept all through the night!”

“That’s rare, is it?”

“I usually wake and see things …”

“Well, you didn’t last night. I’ve been here all the time.”

“What? Sitting there?”

“It was nothing. The armchair is very comfortable. I dozed for hours. I just wanted to be here if you awakened.”

“Oh, Diana, I am lucky to have such a friend.”

“I have a confession to make. I knocked over your tonic. I’m afraid I’ve spilt the lot. It made such a mess on the floor. Be careful where you tread. They’ve taken it up, but little splinters of glass can be dangerous.”

“The tonic!” she said. “I was supposed to take it last night.”

“I hope we shall be able to get hold of the doctor today. We have tried already, but apparently the doctors are all in the hospital. I hope you aren’t going to miss the tonic too much.”

“Roger made me promise to take it.”

“I know. He had great faith in it. But don’t worry. I daresay the doctor will be here today and then we shall get some more.”

During the day she seemed a little better. She was talking quite reasonably and there were no more hallucinations.

I stayed with her all during the day and the doctor did not come. Mrs. Prost suggested that on the following night I should use the room immediately next to hers so that if she needed me in the night all she had to do was knock.

“You can’t have two nights sitting in a chair,” she added.

To my surprise Myra agreed with this.

The room I slept in, I realised, was the one Roger used. It was not quite so large as the one he had shared with Myra and which she now occupied alone. The bed was comfortable and there was a bureau by the window. I did not sleep very well. I was waiting for a tap on the wall.

I was glad when the morning came. I went immediately to Myra’s room. She was sleeping peacefully; the stick with which she was going to tap on the wall was in the same position as I had left it last night.

During the morning she seemed almost like her old self; I was delighted. And in the afternoon the doctor called. Mrs. Prost and I were with Myra while he examined her.

Afterwards he sat in the drawing room and talked to us both.

He was full of apologies for not having come earlier.

“There is chaos in the hospital,” he said. “People are still creeping through the enemy’s lines … if you can call them lines. It can’t be much longer, I’m sure. Now, for the time being, there is nothing to worry about with Mrs. Lestrange. I don’t know what happened to her. But she is going to be all right. She’s weak … but her heart’s all right and so are her lungs. Well, everything is. Might have been poisoned by some insect or other. There are some venomous ones here, as you know, Mrs. Prost … and they like a bit of new blood. They go for the newcomer. And I think some of the old-timers become immune. She needs building up.”

“She has had hallucinations,” I said.

“That could well be. I haven’t been out here all that time myself. I am sure newcomers react more rapidly to these poisonous things. She needs some good red meat. It’s a pity things are as they are.”

“By the way, Dr. Middleburg, I had an accident and knocked over the tonic you gave her. She needs more.”

“She shall have it.”

“We were worried about her missing it.”

“Oh no. It was only a mild pick-me-up. I think she might go on with it. If you could send someone round, I’ll give you some more.”

I felt very relieved when he left us, and so did Mrs. Prost.

That afternoon one of the servants collected the tonic and I said we should not leave it on the side table again. There was a little cupboard in the room and I put it in that.

I spent another night at Riebeeck House and in the morning was delighted to see that Myra’s improvement had continued.

I went back to the schoolhouse and promised I would call the following day.

That was a grim time. No food could be brought in and stores had to be guarded. Military law prevailed and we did not know what our fate would be from one day to the next.

Lilias made an effort to carry on as normal at the school, but not all the pupils came. John Dale continued to be a frequent visitor.

“He’s a wonderful friend to us,” said Lilias more than once. He was very eager to protect and often smuggled special items of food into the schoolhouse.

Soldiers now and then broke through the commandos who were surrounding the town. That usually happened after dark. They brought us news and we learned that we were not the only town under siege. Ladysmith and Mafeking were in a similar plight.

The situation was growing more and more alarming. The easy victory expected by the British was even longer delayed. They were learning something of the difficulties of fighting in a strange land far away from home in a terrain unknown to them, while the enemy were fully aware of all its hazards.

“Ninian was right,” I said. “We should have gone home.”

“I shouldn’t have wanted that,” replied Lilias, and John Dale, who happened to be there at the time, smiled at her; it occurred to me that the feeling between them was strong and growing stronger, as such feelings will in a situation such as we were in.

Of course she wanted to be here. But what of myself? I wished I had gone home, no matter what I should have to face there, because then I could have seen Ninian. When one is close to death—and how could we know at that time what would happen to us?—one faces up to the truth. I had been halfway to falling in love with Ninian. It was only my affair with Jamie which had made me cautious.

Yes, I should have liked to be home with Ninian.

And here I was in a besieged city, only half aware of what was going on around me, never knowing from one moment to another when violent conflict was going to break out.

It was no use denying it. I did wish I had gone home. It was not because I was afraid of this war, but simply because I should be near Ninian.

I WAS GLAD that the schoolhouse was close to Riebeeck House. One could not walk short distances without being stopped by soldiers. They were everywhere. A watchful eye was kept on the commandos who encircled the town and every now and then one heard the sound of gunfire. Soldiers patrolled the town and no one ventured out after dark.

Christmas was with us. How nostalgic I felt, and so, I am sure, did countless others, for the Christmasses at home: the Yule logs in the grate, perhaps the snow falling outside … the security. How different was this!

And here we were in a strange land, so different from our own, in a city besieged by an enemy who could at any time come in and force our garrison to surrender.

Lilias and I would sit on the little stoop and talk. Dragonflies and insects whose names we did not know flew around us. Even the evenings, when the sun had dropped out of sight, were hot. I was homesick for the rain and Ninian. I dreamed of a life wherein I had met Ninian at some other time and place than at my trial; I dreamed that everything was as it had been when my mother was alive. I imagined Ninian had been brought to the house by one of our Edinburgh friends and love had grown between us. Zillah was not in that dream, of course. She belonged to the nightmare life which I was trying to pretend had never existed.

Foolish dreams! But Ninian had cared about me. His last letter had been urgent. “Come home.” Would he have written so if he had not cared a little?

Then reality would creep in. I remembered how he had turned his attention to Zillah.

“We ought to try to do something for Christmas,” Lilias said.

“Such as?” I asked.

“Give the children some sort of party. Say on Christmas Eve.”

“Give them a feast? Goose? Turkey? Delicate chestnut stuffing? Plum pudding to follow? I do not think, Lilias, that those items are on the rations this week.”

“I wish we could give them a party, though. Play games … that sort of thing.”

“We could play the games, I suppose. And that is about all. We’re in the wrong place for feasting.”

“Nevertheless, I think we should try something. Perhaps they could all bring their own food.”

“Surely not! Where would they get it?”

“From their allowance.”

“I don’t think it would amount to much. Has it occurred to you, Lilias, that food is getting more and more scarce?”

“Well, I suppose that is the way with sieges.”

Lilias was determined. A few children still came to school, though the numbers were dwindling. Paul was one of those who came. Lilias was determined to act as though there was nothing to worry about. She told the children we should soon be relieved. The Queen and her soldiers would never allow us to remain in this state. One of the glories of being under the protection of the British flag was that it flew over almost the whole of the world. She pointed out the red sections on the map. “It is the Empire on which the sun never sets,” she told them, “for when it is nighttime in England it is daytime in some part of the world which belongs to our great Empire.”

She spoke with such fervour and passion that every child believed that we should be rescued before long, and some, I am sure, expected the Queen herself to appear at the head of her soldiers.

Paul was very enthusiastic about the Christmas party. He suggested some games we might play. Lilias told all the children who still came to school that they must let the others know there was to be a party on Christmas Eve and they must all come if they could.

On the twenty-third of December, Paul came to school in a state of great excitement. He was carrying a large can and when he took off the lid he revealed four fair-sized fish.

“It’s for the party,” he said. “We can give them a feast after all.”

“Where did you get them?” asked Lilias.

“In the Falls,” he said. “In our grounds.”

“I didn’t know there were fish there,” said Lilias.

“I was walking past and I saw the fish leap over the Falls and I thought, that would be good to eat. So I went back and got a rod and things … and I caught these.”

“What a find!” cried Lilias. “It’s Providence. Paul, you are going to make our Christmas feast possible!”

“We can make some bread. We have a little flour,” I suggested.

“The loaves and fishes,” said Lilias. “This is truly a miracle.”

The party was a great success. Most of the children came. Anna Schreiner was absent. Her father said that Christmas was not a time for feasting and making merry but for prayer. Poor little Anna! I did not think she would have much to rejoice about this Christmas.

However, we cooked the fish. There was not a great deal of it. But it was different. We were able to make lemonade and, if the children were not overfed, at least they were able to play games.

The story of the fishes spread through the town. Food! And discovered in the stream which ran through the grounds of Riebeeck House! People took their rods and went down to the stream.

I do not think there were any great catches, but even a little was welcome.

WE HAD MOVED INTO JANUARY. Little had changed except that food had become more scarce and there were no means of getting fresh supplies. Hopes for early relief were fading.

Myra had made a surprise recovery. She was still weak and nervous, but there were no more hallucinations. She was even surprised that she could ever have believed in them.

I made a point of being there when the doctor visited her again, because I was anxious to hear what he had to say.

I sensed that he thought she was a rather hysterical woman who had found it difficult to adjust to a new country, especially in the prevailing circumstances. He was growing more and more certain that she had been poisoned by some insect. Her symptoms could have been due to a form of poisoning; and she had reacted badly in view of her state of health. However, the trouble was over now and she was getting better every day. All she needed was to eat good food—not very easy in the circumstances—but the main thing was to stop worrying about herself. Then all would be well.

“You must make sure that your mosquito net is secure at night. Avoid those places where you know there are insects. I really don’t think there will be any need for me to visit you again.”

It was good news.

It must have been about a week after the doctor’s visit. I was on my way to her and, as I approached the house, I knew that something disastrous had happened. There was a great deal of shouting from the servants who seemed everywhere. They were gabbling together. I could not understand their language, although I had picked up a word or two.

When I discovered what had happened I felt sick with shock.

Mrs. Prost, who was in the garden, saw me and came up. She told me what had happened. It seemed that one of the boys, fishing near the Falls that afternoon, had discovered the body of the little deaf-mute in the water. The boy had immediately gone to tell Njuba.

“He’s been there ever since … just kneeling, staring into the water. It’s terrible. That poor child.”

“How could it have happened?” I asked.

“We wondered at the time,” said Mrs. Prost. “You remember how he disappeared. We thought he’d run away … and to think all that time he was lying there … dead.”

That afternoon stands out clearly in my mind. Whenever I smell the frangipani blossom I remember it vividly. I can see Njuba kneeling there on the bank. I have never witnessed such abject misery. When the men came to take the body away he was still there. Then he stood up, his hands clenched. He cried out: “This my boy. Someone kill him I will not forget.”

Luban took his hand and led him back to their rondavel and we heard lamentations all through that day.

It was true that the boy had been murdered. There was sufficient evidence to prove that he had been strangled even though he had been so long in the water.

“Who could have done this to a little boy?” demanded Myra.

“And why?” I asked.

“What terrible times we live in. Do you think it has anything to do with the war?”

“I don’t know. What harm could he do to either side?”

It was a mystery and for a few days people talked of little else. It was all, who did it? and why? That was a question no one could answer.

But when there was so much about which to be concerned, the mysterious death of a little native boy did not seem so very significant.

LIFE MUST NECESSARILY become more difficult as time passed. We knew we were all in acute danger. With the arrival of each day we wondered whether this would be the one when the Boers attacked the town. But the garrison had been strengthened just before the siege began; there were soldiers everywhere; it would be no light task and the battle would be fierce.

Lilias was as strong and practical as ever; and because of her growing friendship with John Dale, I did not feel that I was deserting her because I was so frequently at Riebeeck House. Myra needed my company more than she did.

I was getting to know Paul better. He was a pleasant boy and I sensed he rather enjoyed the dangers of living in a besieged town. Danger to him meant excitement, which was preferable to dull ordinary living. He was learning to shoot, as many boys of his age were, but, of course, they lacked live ammunition, which was hoarded in case it should be needed for real battle.

I seemed to have become part of the household at Riebeeck House because I was so often there.

Mrs. Prost’s attitude towards me puzzled me a little. I was never quite certain of how she regarded me. There were times when I thought I was welcome and she was quite fond of me. At others she seemed to be regarding me with something like suspicion. This surprised me a little, for I should have said she was a predictable woman, with fixed ideas from which she would find it difficult to swerve.

She had an affectionate contempt for Myra. Nobody could dislike Myra. She was always thoughtful to the servants and never behaved with the slightest arrogance. She was as different from her mother as one person could be from another. She was gentle, inoffensive and likable.

I understood Mrs. Prost’s feelings towards her, but in my case her attitude seemed to sway between confiding friendship and a strange aloofness.

I discovered the reason for this one day and it was a great shock to me.

Myra was lying down, as she did most days, for she still tired easily, and Mrs. Prost asked me if I would go along to her sitting room.

I did so and when I was seated there I thought her manner decidedly strange. It was almost as though she were forcing herself to perform some unpleasant duty.

At length it came.

“I’ve been meaning to talk to you for some time, Miss Grey,” she said. “It’s been on my mind and I couldn’t decide what to do for the best.”

“Is it about Mrs. Lestrange?”

She pursed her lips and frowned.

“Well, it’s not really … although I suppose you could say she might be concerned.”

“Please tell me.”

She rose and went to a little chest in the corner of the room. She opened a drawer and took a handkerchief which she handed to me.

To my amazement I recognised it as one of mine. It had been given to me by my mother with six others. They all had my initials embroidered in a corner. I looked down at the D and G attractively entwined. Davina Glentyre. I flushed slightly, for into my mind had flashed a picture of Zillah. “It’s safe to use the same initials.” How right she was.

“It’s yours, isn’t it, Miss Grey?”

“Oh yes, it is. Where did you find it?”

“Well, that’s what upset me a bit. I’ve been meaning to talk to you for some time. You see, you’ve been so good to Mrs. Lestrange and I know she’s really fond of you. But when I found that …”

“I don’t know what you mean?”

“I think you do, Miss Grey. Cast your mind back. It was the day … right back, you know. It was one of the times when you spent the night in this house. I found the handkerchief under the master’s bed.”

“What? How did it get there?”

I was flushing hotly while she looked at me, gently shaking her head.

“Now,” she went on, “I’m not one of these people who thinks everybody ought to live like monks and nuns when they’re not. I know these things can happen … men being men. But it’s different somehow with a woman.”

I stood up indignantly. “What are you implying, Mrs. Prost?”

“Now sit down, Miss Grey. I’m not exactly blaming you. The master is a very attractive man. He’s a kind man, but even kind men find their fancy straying, and it’s not in men’s nature to control that sort of thing. It’s different with a woman. She’s got to be a bit more careful.”

“What you are saying is absurd.”

She nodded her head. “I know, I know. The temptation comes and I must say he is a very good-looking man and he’s got all the charm you could wish for. And I know things are not … well, what they might be with him and Mrs. Lestrange. Separate rooms and all that. But I just thought you ought to be careful. I just happened to glance under the bed to see if it had been swept. It hadn’t … and there was this handkerchief.”

“I have no idea how it came to be there.”

“Well, I thought I’d better warn you. When he comes back … and you being in and out of the house … and all that … just like family.”

“You have no need to worry about that, Mrs. Prost. There has never been anything of an intimate nature between Mr. Lestrange and me.”

“I guessed you’d take it like this. That’s why I didn’t say anything before. I’m not what you might call a prude. I thought it might have been just a slipup. These things happen. I’m not saying it’s very nice … but there it is.”

“I must insist …” I began.

“Well, I’ve said my say. It’s not my affair, but I think it could lead to trouble.”

“I keep telling you there’s nothing … nothing …”

“Oh, I suppose it got in there somehow. You never know, do you? But there it was … and I wouldn’t have liked anyone else to have found it.”

I stood up, still clutching the handkerchief. “Mrs. Prost,” I said, “I assure you that I had never been in that room until the night I slept there when Mrs. Lestrange was so ill and Mr. Lestrange had gone away.”

“Then if you say so, dear, that’s all right with me. I just thought I ought to mention it … because when he comes back … well, it wouldn’t be very nice, would it, for you or him or Mrs. Lestrange?”

“I see,” I said, “that you do not believe me.”

“Look. We’re good friends. That’s why I told you … warning you like. These things can cause a lot of trouble.”

“But I keep telling you …”

“All right,” she said. “I’ve said my say and that’s an end of the matter.”

But was it an end of the matter? Mrs. Prost believed that I visited Roger Lestrange in his bedroom. I felt as though I wanted to run out of that house and never come back again.

As SOON AS I ENTERED the schoolroom Lilias knew that something had happened.

“What’s wrong?” she said.

I was silent for a few seconds, then I burst out: “I never want to go to that house again.”

“Riebeeck? What’s happened?”

“Mrs. Prost … she believes I have had a … relationship … with Roger Lestrange.”

“A relationship?”

“She found a handkerchief under his bed. It was the morning after I had stayed in the house when he was there, too. She drew conclusions.”

Lilias stared at me.

I said: “You don’t think … ?”

“Of course not.”

“It’s horrible, Lilias. She seems to think he is irresistible. It was awful. She kept saying she understood. I think that was the worst thing. And I think when she showed me the handkerchief I looked … guilty. It was one my mother had given me. It had my initials on it. And for the moment it took me right back. I had thought it best not to change my initials … whereas if I had changed them, she wouldn’t have known the handkerchief was mine.”

“Wait a minute,” said Lilias calmly. “There’s not much tea left, but this is the occasion to use it.”

Sitting talking to Lilias was a comfort.

“Do you think,” she said, “that someone put the handkerchief there?”

“Who? and why?”

“Someone who wanted to suggest that you had spent a night there.”

“Not Mrs. Prost.”

“No. There doesn’t seem much point in that. But suppose someone put it there for her to find.”

“It might have been someone else who found it.”

“Perhaps that wouldn’t have mattered.”

“What are you thinking, Lilias?”

“I don’t quite know. But someone in that house might have wanted to suggest that you and Roger Lestrange were lovers.”

“But why?”

“That’s all part of the mystery. How could your handkerchief have got into a room in which you had never been at that time, unless someone had taken it there?”

She was frowning and I said: “What are you thinking, Lilias?”

“I am not sure. Myra was there …”

“She was not well. That was the reason why I stayed.”

“She was a little strange, wasn’t she? Imagining things? Perhaps she wanted to prove something against her husband and you.”

“She is devoted to him and I think he is to her.”

“But she was seeing visions. Or did that come later? I’m just letting my thoughts run on. The fact remains that the handkerchief was there. It had to be put there. Then who … and more to the point … why?”

“I feel I never want to go into that house again.”

“If you don’t it might look as though you are guilty.”

“How could I tell Myra?”

“Stay away for a while and see how you feel. Something may occur to you. A handkerchief! It’s strange what trouble such insignificant objects can cause. Think of Desdemona. But try not to brood too much on it. I think there’s enough for another cup in the pot. We mustn’t waste the precious stuff.”

We had come to no conclusion, but it was, as always, a comfort talking to Lilias.

THERE WAS A FEELING of desperation in the town. We knew that something had to happen soon. There was no actual talk of surrender, but the thought was in the air. No matter how strong the spirit, people could not live without food.

Nothing was coming in now. All through that stiflingly hot January we waited for news. We would hear the sound of sporadic gunfire which seemed to be getting closer. Occasionally a shell hit the town and there were casualties. We lived with the thought that at any time we could be among them. All through those hot days death hovered over us. Familiarity made it easier to live with. I suppose we accepted it and it ceased to be uppermost in our minds.

All the same it seemed almost incongruous at such a time to be upset because a suggestion had been made about me; but it was constantly in my mind. Images suggested by Mrs. Prost’s conclusions kept recurring and there was always the mystery as to who could have put my handkerchief in such a place. It could only be that someone wanted to prove something against me.

Lilias, with whom I talked again of the matter, said I was making too much of it.

“You’ve suffered a great shock,” she said, “and you must be on guard against allowing yourself to imagine some evil fate is working against you.”

I knew that she was right when she said I was haunted by the past. I had hoped to escape it by leaving England. I knew as well as she did that there was no hope of a peaceful life for me until I had cut myself away from what had happened.

“Innocence should be your shield against all that,” said Lilias. “You know you were innocent. I knew I was innocent when I was accused. It helps. I’ve told John about the affair of the necklace and he agrees with me.”

She was right, of course. I had to be reasonable. The handkerchief must have been caught up in something and got carried into that room. It seemed implausible, but strange things did happen.

After a few days I began to feel a little better about the affair, but I had no desire to go back to Riebeeck House.

Myra came to the schoolhouse. She was looking much better now. Her cure had been quite miraculous and she had lost most of her nervousness.

She looked at me in some consternation.

“You haven’t been to see me.”

“Well … there’s been a lot to do here.”

She looked surprised, but did not ask what.

“We missed you,” she went on. “Mrs. Prost was quite upset.”

And so she should be, I thought. It is because of her that I’ve stayed away. All the same I was glad she had mentioned what was in her mind. I would rather know than have her continue with her speculations.

“She thought you might have been offended about something. I told her that was nonsense. But I thought I’d come to see you. Is everything all right?”

“Hardly all right, Myra. Things are getting worse. We shall all be starving soon.”

“Yes, I know. And someone was killed last night … near the church.”

“It’s unsafe to be in the streets.”

“It’s unsafe to be anywhere, so one might as well be in one place as another. I wonder when it is all going to end. Oh, Diana, I wonder about Roger. Where can he be?”

“He didn’t say, did he? Well, he couldn’t, of course. It was some mission from the garrison … to let people know what was happening in the town, I suppose, and get help if possible.”

“I pray he is all right. It’s awful that he’s not here now that I am so much better. He couldn’t understand what was wrong with me. He used to worry so much. And to think it was that wretched insect. Who would have thought little things like that could do so much harm? We’ve had rather an upset at Riebeeck. It’s poor old Njuba.”

“It was so terrible about the boy.”

“If it had been an accident it would have been different … though that would have been terrible enough. But to think he was strangled and someone had deliberately killed him …”

“Who could have done that, Myra, to a helpless little boy?”

“It’s a mystery. If it wasn’t for the siege there would have been an enquiry, I suppose. But now nobody thinks of anything but how long we can hold out.”

“That is understandable.”

“What I was going to tell you was that poor Njuba is acting strangely. He just wanders about, muttering to himself. He got into the house and was found going in and out of the rooms… as though he were looking for something. Mrs. Prost found him turning out cupboards. She asked what he wanted and he wouldn’t tell her. She didn’t know what to do. She sent for Luban to take him home. It’s very sad. Poor Luban. She’s lost her son and her husband seems as though he is losing his wits. What terrible things happen, Diana!”

“Yes,” I replied. “That’s true.”

“Please come and see me.”

“It is just as easy for you to come here.”

“Yes, but there is more room at the house and the gardens are nice.”

“All right. I’ll come.”

Lilias was pleased when I told her. “It’s the best thing. Mrs. Prost would think she had been right if you stayed away. You can convince her how wrong she was, I’m sure.”

“But / am not sure about that,” I replied. “I think she has made up her mind that her beloved master is irresistible, and she exonerates him absolutely; and she doesn’t take too stern a view of me because he is the man in the case.”

FEBRUARY HAD COME. We were living on small rations. When we awoke in the mornings we wondered what the day would bring. This state of affairs could not continue. Something had to happen soon.

There were constant outbreaks of gunfire; it had ceased to be sporadic and was normal now. One night a party of three men arrived in the town, having broken through the forces surrounding us; one of them was wounded.

There was jubilation in the streets next morning. People stood about talking with an animation which I had not seen for some time. We should not give up hope yet. The British were advancing. They had suffered a major defeat at Spion Kop, but after that things had changed. Ammunition had been pouring into the country. Two names were mentioned with awe: Major General Horatio Herbert Kitchener and Field Marshal Sir Frederick Sleigh Roberts. They were marching on and were coming to our relief.

New hope was springing up everywhere. People were saying that it was not possible for the great British Empire to be beaten by a handful of farmers. The British now had the measure of the land. “We’ve got the men, we’ve got the ships and we’ve got the money, too.”

Hope was a great reviver. People were smiling in the streets. “It won’t be long. Kitchener and Roberts are on the way.”

I went to Riebeeck House. Lilias was right. To stay away could imply that Mrs. Prost’s suspicions were correct. All the same I did not like staying in the house. I often suggested to Myra that we sit in the gardens. In any case, they were beautiful. The scent of the flowers, the murmur of insects suggested peace … even in these troubled times. Sometimes we walked.

We went along past the waterfall where poor Umgala’s body had been found and on as far as the rondavels.

I do not know what impulse led me to that particular rondavel. It was a little apart from the others and it looked as though it were falling into decay. The grass grew tall about it. There was a hole in the thatched roof.

“That would have been repaired, I daresay, if all this hadn’t happened,” said Myra.

“Who is supposed to keep them in order?”

“The natives. They are their homes. They look after them themselves.”

Something urged me to go forward and as I did so a small boy darted up to us. He smiled, his teeth dazzlingly white against his dark skin.

“Whose home is this?” Myra asked him.

His smile disappeared. He looked furtively over his shoulder. “No one live here, Missee. Devil man there.”

“Devil man?” I said.

“Bad place. Missee no go.”

“It’s only one of the rondavels that has been left to decay. That’s what’s wrong with it.”

“Old man live there. He die. No one want place. It bad. Umgala … he not know. He go … he like. He always there. He die …”

The mention of Umgala startled me. I wanted to go into the rondavel.

“Let’s just take a look,” I said, and started forward.

“No … no, Missee.” The boy was really alarmed. “Bad place. Big snakes in grass. Devil’s snakes. They wait … to catch …”

“We’ll be careful,” I said, and I went forward.

Myra said: “Perhaps we’d better not …”

But I was already making my cautious way through the long grass.

I reached the door, lifted the latch and went in. There was a buzzing noise and a huge insect, which looked like an enormous dragonfly, cruised across the rondavel and settled on a small bench.

“Let’s go!” said Myra. “We don’t want to get stung.”

But something held me there. Under the bench was a rough drawer and below it on the earth floor I noticed wood shavings and splinters of wood.

I went across the room. The insect was still perched on the bench. Keeping my eyes on it I opened the drawer. I had to shake it to get it open and when I did so I saw several carved figures, among them that one which I had seen lying at the bottom of the staircase in the Model House.

I turned to Myra who was standing in the doorway.

“Come away!” she cried. “I don’t like this.”

I said slowly: “That boy … he said Umgala came here … no one else did. He was often here … before he was murdered.”

Myra said: “I’m going. It’s horrible here …”

I followed her. She was already pushing her way through the long grass.

“Myra,” I said. “Myra, it was Umgala …”

At that moment we saw the snake. It had risen and was close to us. It hissed ominously. It had been lurking in the grass.

Evading it, I ran after Myra. I think we were lucky in seeing it in time.

We had reached the clearing. We stopped, panting. I turned to look behind us. There was no sign of the snake.

Myra was trembling. I put an arm round her. “It’s all right now,” I said. “It’s back there in the grass.” And all I could think of was: Umgala made the figures … and Umgala was murdered. This was a momentous discovery. I was bemused, bewildered. Ideas were jostling each other in my mind. I felt I must not mention my discovery to Myra. I wanted to talk it over with Lilias first.

Myra was clinging to me.

“It was awful … that horrible thing in the grass. It was waiting there for us … while we were in that place … it was there in the grass … waiting for us. I didn’t want to go there. I knew there was something dreadful about it. I hate these places. Diana, I want to go home.”

I knew that by “home” she did not mean Riebeeck. She wanted to be in Lakemere.

“You’ll feel better after a rest,” I said, calming her and myself at the same time. But I was not really thinking of her but of that boy who was the carver of the figures and who had died because of them.

Mrs. Prost was coming across the lawn.

“Oh, good afternoon, Miss Grey. Mrs. Lestrange, you look as if you’ve seen a ghost.”

“We’ve seen a snake,” I said.

“Nasty beggars.”

“It was close to us,” said Myra. “It was lurking in the grass. It hissed at us.”

“What sort of snake?”

“I don’t know. It was big. We just thought of getting away.”

“Quite right, too.”

She came with us into the house.

“A nice cup of tea’s what’s wanted now,” she said. “There’s none left. It’s come to a pretty pass when you can’t have a cup of tea when you want one.”

I wanted to get away. I desperately wanted to talk to Lilias.

“You ought to have a lie down, Mrs. Lestrange,” said Mrs. Prost. “You look all shaken up.”

“I think that’s a good idea, Myra.”

She agreed. So I said goodbye to her and prepared to leave. But as I came out of her room Mrs. Prost was waiting for me.

“There is something I ought to say to you, Miss Grey,” she said.

I hesitated. Was she going to apologise for what she had suggested on our last meeting?

“Come into my room,” she said.

So I went.

Mrs. Prost looked embarrassed and I began to feel uneasy, suddenly fearful of what she would reveal next.

She said: “I ought to have told you before. I couldn’t bring myself to. But I’ve got fond of you … and I couldn’t believe it and yet there it was.”

“Yes?” I said faintly.

“I … er … know who you really are.”

“What … do you mean?”

“You’re Miss Davina Glentyre.”

I gripped the sides of my chair. I felt sick and dizzy. That which I had never ceased to dread had come to pass.

She was looking at me steadily.

“How … did you know?” I asked.

She rose and went to a drawer—the same one from which, on that other occasion, she had taken the handkerchief. She brought out two newspaper cuttings and gave them to me. The headlines stared back at me.

“Guilty or Not Guilty? Miss Davina Glentyre in Court. Dean of Faculty Addresses Jury.”

I could not read the print. It danced before my eyes. All I could see was those damning headlines.

“How long have you known?” I asked, and I thought at once: what does it matter how long? She knows now.

“Oh … for some time.”

“How?”

“Well, it came about in a funny way. I was dusting Mr. Lestrange’s room and he came in. He was one to have a little chat … always the gentleman … never making you feel small like. I said, ‘I won’t be a minute, sir. I always like to do your room myself, to make sure everything’s all right.’ He said, ‘You’re very good, Mrs. Prost. I’ve just come in to get some papers. Don’t let me stop you.’ He went to his desk there and took out some papers, and as he did so these fluttered to the floor. I picked them up. I couldn’t help seeing them.”

“He had them in his drawer? Then …”

She nodded, and went on: “He said, ‘You’ve seen these cuttings now, Mrs. Prost. So I think you and I should have a little chat. Sit down.’ So I sat and he said: ‘You recognise the young lady?’ I said, ‘Yes, it’s her that calls herself Miss Grey.’ He said, ‘She was most unfortunate. I believe in her innocence. She was definitely not guilty of killing her father. You couldn’t believe that of her, could you, Mrs. Prost? Not a nice charming young lady like Miss Grey.’ I said: ‘No, I couldn’t, sir, but …’ Then he said: ‘She’s come out here to start a new life. I want to help her, Mrs. Prost. Will you, too?’ I said, ‘Well, I’m ready to do what you say, sir.’ ‘Take these papers,’ he said. ‘Put them away somewhere. Just hide them. I shouldn’t leave them about. The servants … you know … one of them might find them. Just take them and make sure no one sees them. I want you to help me rehabilitate Miss Grey. I like her. I like her very much. She is a young lady who deserves another chance.’ Then he gave me these cuttings.”

“Why did he give them to you? Why did he want you to keep them?”

“He didn’t say. And I thought I’d better, since he’d said.”

She took them from me and put them back in the drawer.

“Nobody comes in here,” she said, “unless I invite them. I do my own room. He’s quite right. They’re safer here with me than they are with him.”

“But why should you want to keep them?”

“I don’t know. I just feel I ought to … as he said. He might want them back. But what I wanted to say to you was that I knew. I suppose Mrs. Lestrange doesn’t?”

I shook my head.

“Well, it’s only the master and me.”

I was feeling ill. I just wanted to get away. First the shock of what I had discovered in the rondavel and now, immediately afterwards, this which had temporarily driven all else from my mind.

I said: “What are you going to do?”

“I’m not going to do anything. But I thought you’d understand me better if I told you I knew. I could see Mr. Lestrange was very fond of you. After all, he’s gone out of his way to help you, hasn’t he? Didn’t he let you know about the school? That’s why you’re here. Your secret’s safe with me. It’s some time since I knew. It was just before Mr. Lestrange left, of course. When he comes back I shall tell him I’ve told you. I shall say it was only right and proper that I should. Now look, don’t you worry. Mr. Lestrange doesn’t believe you did that terrible thing … and nor do I. Nice girls don’t go round murdering people … especially their own fathers. He took it himself. Men are like that … and him with a young wife. It’s easy to see … and that’s what they thought it was, didn’t they, because they let you off. So don’t you worry. I’ll go on calling you Miss Grey though you’re not. But you couldn’t very well use the other, could you?”

I wished that she would stop. I stood up.

I said: “I’m going now, Mrs. Prost.”

“All right. But don’t worry. I just thought that you ought to know that I know and I didn’t hold it against you. You just have to be careful, that’s all. I understand. I’m the sort of person who can put myself in other people’s place. I was young myself once. But you don’t want trouble.”

“If you don’t mind, I’ll go.”

“Get a nice rest. I know this has been a bit of a shock … but it’s safe with me. So don’t you fret.”

I hurried back to the schoolhouse. At the sight of me Lilias knew something was wrong.

“What news?” she said. “There’s been a lot of activity out there. Something’s going to break soon.”

“Lilias, I’ve had a terrible shock. Mrs. Prost …”

“Oh, not on again about that handkerchief!”

“No. She knows who I am. She has cuttings … newspaper cuttings of the case. She knows what happened in Edinburgh.”

“No! How?”

“Roger Lestrange had them. He gave them to her. So he knew … and now she knows. You see, there was no escape. You can’t run away from a thing like that.”

“Let’s get this straight. She told you, did she, that he gave her these cuttings?”

“She was dusting the room. He went to get something out of a drawer and they fell out. She picked them up for him … and saw.”

“Rather fortuitous, wasn’t it?”

“It sounded accidental, the way she told it. She rushed to pick them up. She couldn’t help seeing. There was a picture of me. He realised that she had seen. He said he believed in my innocence and wanted to help me.”

“So he kept the cuttings and dropped them at her feet?”

“He gave her the cuttings, he said, because he thought they might fall into the hands of one of the servants.”

“What’s wrong with a nice bit of fire?”

“I don’t know why they had to be kept. But she has them. She knows, Lilias. She says she believes in my innocence and wants to help me as he does. Oh, Lilias, I wish I had never seen Roger Lestrange. I wish I’d never come here.”

“I am wondering what this means. Why should he have let her see those cuttings? Why should he have given them to her … to keep? What does it mean?”

“I don’t know.”

“I don’t like it.”

“Oh … and something else has happened. I’d forgotten in all this. I’ve found out who did those carvings and put them in the Model House. It was Umgala … the little deaf-mute who was murdered.”

“What?”

“There is one of the rondavels which is empty. Someone died there, and you know how superstitious these people can be? It’s a little apart from the others and quite dilapidated. One of the boys warned us about going there and told us that Umgala used to go there often … and he was unlucky. He was murdered. The boy seemed to think it was because he had gone to that place. I went in and saw the wood shavings on the floor. I opened a drawer and there was one of the figures. The one I’d seen in the Model House.”

She was looking at me incredulously.

“And you think he was murdered because he did those figures and put them in that place?”

“Oh, Lilias, I’m beginning to think all sorts of things.”

“The figures were significant.”

“Oh yes. There was one lying at the bottom of the stairs. I didn’t see the others … the ones which upset Myra so much. It was a man holding a woman and it was set at the top of the staircase. Myra said it was placed so that it looked as though the male figure was throwing the female down.”

“It would seem that Umgala saw this happen. He couldn’t speak … so he tried to explain in some other way.”

“Yes, he was trying to convey something … that it was no accident. Margarete Lestrange had not fallen down the stairs accidentally. She had been deliberately pushed … murdered, in fact.”

“And that was why the boy died. Someone did not like those figures.”

“Roger Lestrange did not like them. He was furious when he found them. Though he gave the impression that it was because it had upset Myra.”

“And soon after that the boy disappeared.”

“Do you think that he … murdered his first wife … and would have murdered Myra? She has been so much better since he has gone. She is almost recovered. She began to get better after I broke the bottle by her bedside. Was she being poisoned … not by an unspecified insect … but by her husband through the tonic? It’s a terrible situation. Did he murder his first wife and was he trying to remove his second?”

“That’s a theory,” said Lilias slowly. “He had reasons, didn’t he?”

“His first wife had the big diamond … the Kimberley Treasure. He bought Riebeeck with her money … and then she died. He came to England looking for a wife … one with money … one who was docile and unassuming. You see, Myra fitted exactly what he wanted.”

“Are we running on too fast? Was it as simple as that? And following on those lines, I see another aspect of the case. Why was he interested in you?”

“Was he?”

“Certainly he was. That was obvious.”

“True, he paid for the cabin.”

“What?”

“I never told you. I knew you’d hate it. The cabin we had at first was the one we had paid for. There was no mistake. He paid the difference. That was why we went to a better one.”

“What a fool I was!” said Lilias. “I might have known. Why didn’t you tell me?”

“I didn’t know until we were almost at Cape Town, and then it was too late. We couldn’t have gone back. I thought you would be upset about the money … so I decided to accept graciously.”

“I shall pay him back,” said Lilias. “But that is not the point now. That’s for later. I am trying to make sense of this. That handkerchief story. Found under his bed the day after the night you spent in the house. What if he put it there? And the newspaper cuttings … fluttering onto the floor. A likely story! He wanted her to see them. And why should he give them to her? She was to keep them. Why? Oh, Davina, I don’t like this. I think you could be in danger.”

“How?”

“Don’t you see? His first wife died in mysterious circumstances.”

“Did she? She fell down the stairs … after she had been drinking.”

“There may have been suspicions. She had inherited this diamond and she had died soon after their marriage. Then he married again—an acquiescent woman, rather like the first; she also has money. She is being slowly poisoned. Now he may be clever and get away with the second, as he did with the first … but suppose he doesn’t? He’d want an escape route. And there is a woman who has been accused of poisoning her own father who was threatening to cut her out of his will. She is tried for his murder and suspicion still hangs over her as the verdict is Not Proven. She comes to the house; the housekeeper finds her handkerchief under the bed. A little indiscretion perhaps … but indiscretion is not murder. She is interested in the handsome master of the house, but he has a wife already. Once she was on trial for the murder of someone who stood in her way. Suppose she were really guilty? Might she not try the same method again? I know this is a wild supposition. He could hope to succeed and then you would not be necessary. But if he did not … well then, he has his scapegoat. Oh, Davina, I may be romancing … but this could just be the truth!”

“How can you think of such terrible things!”

“Because I’m being practical. I’m being hard-headed. I’m trying to get a clear picture. I am asking myself why this, why that? And I’m putting the worst construction on every thing just to see whether it fits … and it could, Davina. It could.”

“I’m frightened, Lilias. I couldn’t go through all that again. So much of it fits. He has always made me feel a little uneasy. And now … now I feel he was there right from the first … like that snake in the grass … waiting for the moment to strike … lurking there … laying the snare … because of what had happened to me. Thank God he went away. I can even thank God for the siege. If he had stayed … oh, I can’t bear to think of it! Lilias, if this is true, when he comes back he will expect to find Myra dead.”

“Perhaps he won’t come back … perhaps we shall never know. How do we know what is happening all over the country? People die in wars. Where did he go? We do not know. He was on some secret business, he implied, did he not? How could one know with a man like that? But if he comes back … perhaps we shall know more.”

“He can hardly come back while we are in siege.”

“Then we shall never know the truth.”

“What shall we do, Lilias?”

“We can only wait and see. But I tell you one thing. When he comes … if he comes … we shall be prepared.”

We sat up late that night, talking, for we knew neither of us would sleep. We went over and over everything that seemed significant.

I could not really believe that he had helped to bring me out here because he planned to murder his wife and wanted a scapegoat, should the need arise.

Lilias said: “It might not have been deliberately planned. Such things often are not. Perhaps in the first place he really wanted to help you. He must have discovered early on that you were Davina Glentyre.”

“I remember there was an occasion … you were there. We had been visiting Mrs. Ellington and I fell while mounting my horse. Kitty was there. She called out my name.”

“I remember. That would have been enough.”

“It’s an unusual name. It might have started a train of thought in him. He has certainly been very friendly. He was so anxious that I should go to the house to be with Myra. Then there are the handkerchief and the cuttings …”

“We can go over and over it, Davina, and still we shall not be sure. Let’s wait and see what happens when he returns. Perhaps we shall learn more.”

And so we talked.

WE DID NOT HAVE TO WAIT very long. We knew the Army was closing in. Between it and the town were the Boer commandos, and what hope had a group of wartime fighters, fresh from their farms, in conflict with trained soldiers?

How could Kruger and Smuts stand up to Kitchener and Roberts … and the British Army? The breakthrough was inevitable. It would be any day now. We were waiting for them. And at last they came.

It seemed that every man, woman and child was in the streets. We were out there to greet them as they came in and their welcome was tumultuous. People were embracing and kissing each other.

“It’s over. They’re here. We always knew they’d come …”

It seemed as though it was worth living through a siege because it was so wonderful when it was over.

Mafeking. Ladysmith. They were now free.

“Good old Bobs. Good old Kitchener,” cried the people.

We were all carried along on the wings of victory during those days.

THE RELIEF OF KIMBERLEY was such an exhilarating experience that, in spite of all that had so recently happened to me, I was caught up in the rejoicing. But the terrible realisation of what evil might have been hovering over me was never far from my mind.

After the first days had passed, after we had grown accustomed to having the Army in town, to food arriving, to feasting, to singing “God Save the Queen,” I became haunted by the thought that now Roger Lestrange would come back. And then … what? What could I say to him? I could not accuse him of attempting to poison his wife and devising a devious plot to implicate me. I could not say to him, “Myra started to recover as soon as she stopped taking the tonic which you insisted on her having.” What could I say of the handkerchief and the cuttings? It was, as Lilias had pointed out, nothing but theory even though it did seem a plausible one.

But I did not have to speak to Roger Lestrange again.

Four days after the relief of the town he returned.

I never knew what he said or thought when he came back and saw Myra alive and well, for on the night of his return he was shot dead by someone who was waiting for him in the gardens of Riebeeck House.

The news travelled quickly and John Dale came to the schoolhouse to tell us about it.

“Who killed him?” I asked.

“Nobody knows as yet. They suspect one of the servants who has been acting strangely for a long time.”

Lilias and I were certain that Njuba had shot him because he had discovered that Roger Lestrange was the murderer of his son.

I said: “Poor Myra. She will be distraught. I must go to see her.”

“I’ll come with you,” said Lilias.

There was chaos at Riebeeck House. Roger Lestrange’s body had been laid in one of the rooms. Myra was weeping bitterly.

Mrs. Prost was present. When she saw me she looked relieved.

“I’m glad you’re here,” she said. “There’s no comforting her. To think he came home for this.”

They found Njuba in the gardens. He seemed bewildered and his eyes were wild.

“He’s mad,” said Lilias. “Poor man. It’s turned his brain.”

“What will happen to him?” I whispered.

“It’s murder,” said Lilias, “whichever way you look at it. It may be rough justice, but it’s murder.”

Njuba kept murmuring: “He killed my son.” He held up a button. “This … in my son’s hand. It from his coat. I find. He killed my son. Held fast … in my son’s hand. Still there … when I find him.”

They took him away.

So there was proof that Roger Lestrange had killed the poor little deaf-mute. It could only have been because he knew the secret of Margarete’s death and, because he could not explain in words, was doing so by using the figures he carved. If Roger Lestrange could kill his wife … if he could kill a small boy … the theory of his idea of shifting the blame to me did not seem so implausible, particularly as we were now certain that he had paved the way with the handkerchief and the cuttings. He had meant to snare me … so that I should be there if the need arose. Serpent-like he had waited for the moment to strike.

Poor Luban was half crazy with grief. We all tried to comfort her. Myra helped with this. Luban had lost a son and was about to lose her husband; but Myra had also lost a husband. It seemed ironical that she had so loved a man who was callously plotting to kill her while at the same time he set out to enchant her. But I think that by helping Luban she found some solace for her own grief.

The sequel to the story amazed everyone when, the following day, Piet Schreiner made an announcement in the chapel.

He stood in the pulpit facing the congregation. The chapel was full of those who were there to give thanks to God for the relief of the town.

“This is the justice of the Lord,” cried Piet Schreiner. “I killed Roger Lestrange. He deserved to die. He was a sinner. He seduced the woman I married and deserted her. I married her to save her family from shame and to give the child a name. God directed me to do such and I will always obey the Lord. Now He has directed me to destroy this despoiler of virgins, this fornicator, this evil liver, who now stands before his Maker. He will be judged for what he is, and the fires of Hell await him. The man Njuba has been wrongly accused. He had murder in his heart. He had his reasons. I and I alone destroyed this wicked sinner. I am the messenger of the Lord, and now that my work is done, I take my leave of this world and go to that place of glory which awaits me.”

The congregation listened spellbound to this peroration. And when it was over, Piet Schreiner took up a gun and shot himself.

THE RELIEF OF KIMBERLEY did not mean that the war was over, and the euphoria began to evaporate fairly soon. The comfort of being able to walk about the streets without fear of sudden death and the fact that food was not growing more and more scarce had ceased to be such a great delight to us. The country was still in the throes of war, and a victory here and there was not going to deter the Boers. They were a persistent people. Not unaccustomed to hardship, they believed they were fighting for their homeland and were determined to hold out.

They were fully aware that their army was inferior to that of the British, but that did not prevent their forming into guerrilla bands which attacked the British Army quarters and the lines of communication which were essential to bringing the war to a conclusion.

So the expected peace was delayed.

However, our siege was over; we tried to return to normal life as far as possible and the pupils came back to school.

I went to Riebeeck House frequently, in spite of the fact that I had to meet Mrs. Prost which was an embarrassment to me. She had been deeply distressed by the death of Roger Lestrange. The revelation that the dead boy had been clutching a button from one of his coats had shocked everyone profoundly. Njuba had taken the coat and it was unmistakable evidence. Then there was the accusation that he was the father of Greta Schreiner’s child. Roger Lestrange had been a hero in Mrs. Prost’s eyes and no doubt she would want to think that another man had been the father of Greta’s child. But she could hardly condone the murder of a helpless child.

As for Myra, she was prostrate for some days after the death of her husband, but gradually she began to rouse herself. She took Njuba and Luban under her care. Njuba was very ill and in danger of losing his mind. I was amazed at the manner in which she and Luban helped each other at that time. Paul was with her a great deal. He had been fond of Umgala. He told me afterwards that the boy had been trying to tell him something, but he could not discover what, and Umgala must have tried to do so through the figures. If he had been quicker to comprehend there would not have been any need for Umgala to make the figures and, presumably, be caught putting them in the Model House, and so meet his death.

Both he and Myra had need of each other at that time.

I used to lie in bed at night going over the dramatic events of the last months, and I would brood on our conjecture that Roger Lestrange had planned to use me. There was little doubt in my mind that he had planned to murder Myra and he would have succeeded but for the turn of events, for if the town had not been besieged he would have been able to come back and complete his work.

I would let my mind run on and imagine Mrs. Prost perhaps going into Myra’s room and finding her dead … poisoned by some insect. But would there have been an enquiry? Would they have discovered that the tonic was poisoned? And if her husband was suspected … he would produce his trump card … all ready to play. Diana Grey was in fact Davina Glentyre. She had been with the deceased a great deal during that time when she was taking the tonic. She had stayed in the house. A handkerchief was found under Mr. Lestrange’s bed which suggested that she was a visitor to his room. Mr. Lestrange had helped her a great deal. Did she have hopes of marriage? In which case there was a motive and Davina Glentyre had stood trial for the murder of her father who had once stood in her way.

I would sweat with fear … imagining the courtroom. The only difference would be that this one would be in Kimberley instead of Edinburgh. But it did not happen, I kept telling myself. You were saved from that … by the war. But I could not stop thinking of what might have been.

I said to myself, you were in danger … because of what happened before. There is no escape from the past. It has followed you here. He brought you here because of it. He planned to murder her and if necessary shift the blame to you, but now he cannot harm you. But people know of the past. There is no escape from it.

We had news now of what was going on. Johannesburg and Pretoria were now in the hands of the British, but de Wet and de la Rey, with their bands of commandos, were harrying the Army everywhere. Kitchener was growing impatient with the Boers who would not accept defeat. He was following a scorched earth policy, setting fire to those farms which he believed harboured guerrillas; he was setting up concentration camps in which he imprisoned any suspects. But resistance continued; the Boers were as determined as ever; and the war went on.

It was afternoon. The children were leaving after their lessons and Lilias and I were putting the books away when there was a knock on the door.

I went to open it. A man was standing there. I stared at him. I thought I must be dreaming.

He said: “This must be something of a surprise.”

“Ninian!” I cried.

Lilias had come out. She was as dumbfounded as I was.

“Is it really … ?” she stammered.

As he stepped into the hall, I felt an overwhelming joy take possession of me.

HE SAT IN THE LITTLE ROOM near the schoolroom and told us how difficult it had been to get here.

“All the formalities … all the ships carrying troops. I managed, though … pleading an important case for a very special client.”

“A client? Then …”

“You are the client,” he said.

Lilias made us a meal. She would not allow me to help.

She guessed, as I did, that Ninian wanted to be alone with me. But I was still bewildered, marvelling at the fact that he was here.

I sensed that he had important things to say to me but was waiting for the appropriate moment, and Lilias announced the food was ready. She apologised for its simplicity.

“We are no longer in siege, but things are still a little difficult.”

We talked about the siege and the news of the war. Ninian thought it could not last much longer. The Boers were outnumbered. If it had not been for the difficulties of the terrain they would not have had a chance in the first place … and so on.

I was aware of his impatience … which I shared. I wanted to know what it was which had made him undertake such a journey in wartime.

Lilias was very perceptive and as soon as the meal was over she said she had to go and see John Dale. Would we forgive her if she went?

As soon as she had gone, Ninian said: “I know she is in your confidence and that you are great friends, but I did feel that what I have to say is for you alone.”

“I want so much to hear,” I told him.

“You know I was very uneasy about your coming out here, and when I heard that Lestrange had paid for the cabin and befriended you … and that you were seeing a great deal of his wife who was very ill … I began to get more and more disturbed.”

“You know that he is dead?”

“Dead?” He looked at me blankly and I explained.

He put his hand to his head. “Then you are safe,” he said.

“That explains so much. I was right. Oh, what a lucky escape you have had!”

“Tell me what you know.”

“It’s damning against him. I thought I recognised his face, but it didn’t come to me until after you’d sailed. I just could not remember where I had seen that face before. The fact of the matter is that the man was a murderer … the worst sort. Not the man who kills in the heat of passion … or from sense of injustice … but in cold blood … for the lust for money. He killed two women whom he married for their money, and was planning this third crime … Myra Ellington. How is she?”

“She is well now. She has been very ill. But Roger Lestrange went away before the siege and was unable to get back.” I explained about the tonic.

He breathed deeply. “Thank God that you broke the bottle, or it might have been too late. Let me tell you more of this man. The reason I was suspicious about him was that there was a case in Australia. It came to my notice because there was a lawsuit about money. It brought out one of the finer points of law, and as you know, we keep records of that sort of thing. A man named George Manton went out to Australia from England. There he married a wealthy young heiress and within nine months of the marriage she was dead through drowning. Her fortune passed to her husband of a few months: George Manton. It appeared that some years after his wife’s death, the heiress’s father had travelled to England. His daughter was then four years old. While he was in England he married again; the marriage was unsuccessful and the couple agreed to part— the husband returning to Australia, the wife remaining in England. But there was a son of that marriage and this son in due course claimed his share of his father’s fortune. The case was tried out in both the English and Australian courts; and during it a picture of George Manton was published. That is when I saw it. But it was not until after you had left that I remembered the case and looked up the relevant papers. When I heard that Myra was ill I was very alarmed. You remember, I wrote to you, telling you you must come home.”

“I thought that was because war was imminent.”

“It was … but there was this as well … and there was another reason.”

“What was that?”

“A personal one. I will talk to you about that later. I had a strong feeling that you might be in acute danger.”

“Lilias and I have thought that I might have been. But tell me first about this wife in Australia.”

“In your letter you mentioned that he had had a wife who died through falling down stairs. It was too much of a coincidence. One wife drowned in Australia shortly after marriage, another falling down the stairs, and the third … very ill … doubtless being poisoned. He was varying in his methods. And then … he had taken great pains to get you out here.”

I told him about the handkerchief and Mrs. Prost.

He was shocked. “I don’t think there can be any doubt,” he said. “What an escape!”

“I believe he killed a little native boy who must have seen him push his wife down the stairs. The child was both deaf and dumb. He was often in the house. Nobody took much notice of him. His mother worked there. He made carved figures which he put in the Model House. I must tell you about that. I discovered it in one of the dilapidated rondavels where I saw wood chippings. Roger Lestrange must have found out the boy did them. Perhaps he caught him in the house … putting that figure there. Then he would have guessed that the boy knew something. It is all falling into place and it is horrible.”

“You should never have come here, Davina.”

“I know now.”

“I cannot forgive myself for introducing you to that Society.”

“It seemed a good idea at the time and we might have gone to Australia or America which was what we planned in the beginning.”

“As soon as I had suggested it I was furious with myself. But you wanted to get away.”

“I thought it was the answer. I now know that there is no safe escape. As you see …”

He nodded.

“I tried to get out here before.”

“You have come all this way … ?”

He smiled at me. “Yes, I have come all this way. It is miraculous that everything turned out as it did. It could have been so different.”

“I am sure he was going to suggest that I hoped to marry him and therefore removed his wife.”

“He was probably hoping that he would get away with it, as he had on two other occasions. Perhaps he thought that the second time in the same house might have aroused suspicions … even though he had used different methods. It seems reasonable to suppose it was a good idea to have you standing by, as an escape route for him, if anything went wrong. He would, of course, have hoped that it would not have been necessary to use you in that way, as the less fuss the better. But he wanted you at hand just in case you should be necessary.”

“It is so cold-bloodedly calculated.”

“He was calculating … cold-bloodedly so. How thankful I am that he was not able to carry out his diabolical schemes. He lived violently. It was rough justice that he should die so.”

“Two people had marked him down for death: the father of the murdered boy was so upset because someone killed him before he could.”

“But we should be rejoicing, Davina. I could have come too late to save you.”

“I don’t think I could have gone through all that again. The court … the dock. It is the terrible stigma that I find so hard to bear.”

He stood up and came to me. He drew me to my feet and put his arms about me. On impulse I clung to him.

“Thank you, Ninian,” I said. “Thank you for coming.”

“I could not forget you,” he told me. “You haunted me. That verdict. Not Proven. They should have known you could not have done it.”

“The evidence was there against me.”

“That woman, Ellen Farley. They never found her, you know. She just disappeared. Why should she have disappeared?

She could have come forward. Heaven knows, we tried hard enough to find her. Her evidence would have been so important.”

“I can’t forget that you came all this way.”

“I felt a letter was not enough. I asked you to come home before. I knew it would be difficult to come, because of the war. But here I am.”

“And that personal reason you were going to tell me?”

“I realised after you’d gone what it meant for me not to see you again. I knew then that I was in love with you.”

“You … in love with me?”

“Couldn’t you guess?”

“I knew you had taken a special interest in my case … but advocates have to be interested in their cases. I thought you were rather taken with my stepmother.”

He smiled. “The enchanting Zillah!” he murmured. “I had a feeling that she knew more than she let us know. It was due to her that we got the verdict we did. She was a vital witness. But I still felt there was more. I wanted to find out what. That was why I cultivated her acquaintance. What I wanted more than anything was to get to the truth. I know what it feels like to come out of the courts Not Proven.”

“Well, thank you, Ninian. You have been wonderful to me. You have helped me so much.”

He shook his head.

“I have not done enough,” he said. “I should have shown my devotion to you. I want you to know exactly how I feel. I love you and want you to come back to Scotland with me.”

I stared at him in amazement.

“I want you to marry me,” he added.

I thought I must have misunderstood.

“I have been hoping that you might care for me,” he went on.

I was silent. I was too deeply moved for speech. I had longed to be with him. I remembered how his interest in Zillah had hurt me. When I had seen him standing at the door I could not believe my eyes. I could not get used to the idea that he had come all this way to see me.

Did I care for him? I had always cared for him. He it was who had drawn me from the slough of despond, who had sustained me with his determination to defend me. When I had left England, as I thought never to see him again, my desolation had been so deep that I had forced myself not to admit it. I had insisted to myself that my depression was due to the fact that I was leaving my native land. But it was not that so much as leaving Ninian.

I said: “I have never forgotten you.”

He took my hands and kissed them. “In time,” he said, “you could care for me.”

“I don’t need time,” I told him. “I care for you now. The moment when I opened the door and saw you there was the happiest in my life.”

He looked suddenly radiant. “Then you will come back … now. You will marry me … ?”

“Go back with you … to Edinburgh? You can’t mean that!”

“But I do. It is the reason why I came here … to take you back with me. I intend that we shall never be parted again.”

“You haven’t thought of this seriously.”

“Davina, for weeks I have thought of little else.”

“But have you considered what this would mean?”

“I have considered it.”

“You, a rising figure in law, married to someone who has been tried for murder … the case Not Proven …”

“Believe me, I have considered all that.”

“It would be very bad for your career.”

“To be with you will be the best thing that ever happened to me.”

“I should have expected you to show more calm common sense.”

“I am doing so. I know what I want and I am doing my best to get it.”

“Oh, Ninian, how foolish you are, and how I love you for your folly! But it could not be. I should go back to Edinburgh … the place where it all happened. How could I? Everyone knows me there. It is bad enough here to be aware that Mrs. Prost knows who I am. But back there … they would all know. And if you married me … it would all be brought back. They would suspect me, Ninian. We have to face the truth. There will always be those who believe that I killed my father. It would ruin your career.”

“If I couldn’t stand up to that I don’t deserve much of a career.”

“I should prevent your rising. I could not do it, Ninian. But I shall never forget that you asked me.”

He took me by the shoulders and shook me gently.

“Stop talking nonsense. We’re going to do it. We’re going to defy them all. I know that you love me … and I love you. That is at the root of the matter. The rest … well, we’ll deal with that when the time comes.”

“I couldn’t let you. It’s wonderful … it’s quixotic … it’s noble …”

He laughed. “It indulges my own wishes. I want to marry you. I shall never be happy again if you refuse me. Listen, Davina, there will be difficulties. I know that. There may be unpleasantness now and then. But we shall be together. We’ll face it together … whatever it is. I want that, Davina, more than anything in the world. I cannot explain to you what these last months have been like for me. All the time I have been thinking of you in this place … here … under siege. It was more than I could endure. And then I learned about Roger Lestrange … I thought of his efforts to get you here. I could not imagine what his motives were. I had to come out here … I had to see you … I had to explain my feelings … and now I am not letting you go again. I am going to be with you for the rest of my life.”

“It is wonderful to contemplate,” I said sadly. “But it cannot be … I know …”

“You do not know. Whatever there is to face, it is better for us to face it together.”

“But there is no need for you to face it at all. You should go back to Edinburgh … carry on your successful career … become Lord Justice …”

“Without you? Certainly not. I am going to sweep away all your excuses.”

“But you know they are … sensible.”

“Maybe, in some respects. But we are talking about love. Now, Davina, will you marry me?”

“I want to say yes … more than anything I want to.”

“Then that is enough.”

So I gave myself up to dreaming.

Lilias returned with John Dale. There had to be introductions and explanations. There was a great deal of talk about the war and the feeling about it home in Britain.

Ninian said there were some enthusiastic and some dissenting voices. But there was always great rejoicing at the victories; and Kitchener and Roberts were the heroes of the day. He explained the difficulties of travel in wartime and how he had been trying some time to get a passage.

The men left together—John Dale to his home and Ninian to his hotel. He said he would see me tomorrow morning. There was a great deal to discuss.

When they had gone Lilias looked at me questioningly.

“That was a surprise,” she said. “He’s come out here to see a client. What does that mean? He’s come out here to see you, hasn’t he?”

“Yes,” I said. “He has confirmed a great deal of what we thought about Roger Lestrange. He had another wife in Australia who died by drowning.”

Lilias stared at me.

“And,” I went on, “I think our theory about what my role was to be in his scheme was the correct one.”

She closed her eyes and clenched her hands together.

“What an escape!” she murmured. “So Ninian found this out.”

“Yes, there was some court case over his first wife’s money and Ninian had some records.”

“So he thought you might be in danger. It was a long way to come. I suppose he thought he’d defend you … if necessary.”

“He has asked me to marry him.”

“I see. And … ?”

“How could I accept? How could I go back to Edinburgh … his wife? It would ruin his career.”

“Well?”

“Lilias, how could I accept?”

“He’s asked you. My goodness, he’s come right here to tell you this. That gives you some idea of the depth of his feelings, doesn’t it?”

“Yes,” I said happily. “It does. But all the same, I can’t accept.”

“Yes, you can,” she said. “And you will.”

How COULD I HELP this feeling of intense happiness which had gripped me? I could not suppress my true feelings. I was happy. Ninian loved me. He had come all this way at this most difficult time because he feared I was in danger.

What could I do? I could never escape from my past … nor would Ninian, if he shared it. He knew this. None could know it better. And yet he chose it … it was what he wanted.

So I was going home.

Ninian was making plans. We were to be married in Kimberley. Then we would travel home together as husband and wife.

There was no point in delay. The journey home might be long and difficult. We should have to get to Cape Town and wait for a ship. But we knew where we were going and it did not matter as long as we were together.

I had wondered about leaving Lilias, but everything seemed to be working out neatly. With one wedding in view it seemed only natural that there should be another. I had known for a long time that there had been a special relationship between Lilias and John Dale. He asked her to marry him—and how delighted I was when I heard the news.

There would be two marriages on the same day which would be appropriate as we had come out together.

Myra was sad at the prospect of my going. She did not know everything about her husband. We did not speak of him. The murder of the deaf-mute was revealing, for there was the indisputable evidence of the button from one of Roger Lestrange’s coats to prove the case against him. Umgala had obviously witnessed the crime and was attempting to reveal what he knew— so he had had to die. And now Roger himself was dead and Myra was no longer a wife. She had been fascinated completely by her husband—but at the same time she had been fearful of him. She could not be aware that she had come close to death herself.

But we did not speak of it. She had been bemused and bewildered, but gradually she seemed to realise that she must start a new life. Strangely enough she turned to Paul. Together they made Njuba their concern. They looked after him and Luban and it brought them close together.

I had thought she might want to come back with me and for a time I think she considered doing so. But as her new relationship with Paul began to ripen they both decided that he would be better if he stayed in his native land; and she decided to stay with him.

So Ninian and I were married, and in due course we were able to set sail for England.