Forgiven_BooksGoSocial Historical Fiction

by Geoff Lawson

were bay windows along the outside walls and the section

  boasted a long frontage with an elaborate, wrought-iron fence.

  From the road a semicircle driveway wound its way upward

  and led to a set of long concrete steps across the front of the

  house, giving access to a wide front verandah. I ascended the

  steps and stopped in front of the door. Spectacular panels of

  multi-coloured leadlight windows surrounded the unusually

  wide doorway and in the middle of the ornate door was an

  elaborate polished knocker. I took a deep breath and held the

  knocker in my hand. I knocked four times.

  It seemed that within seconds the door swung open and

  Rachel was standing before me. For a moment or two we

  gaped.

  “My, you are the most handsome man!”

  She took my breath away as well. She was wearing a dark

  green velvet dress that hugged every contour of her lithe form

  and matching slippers adorned her feet. Her light brown hair

  was extensively plaited and elegantly wound in patterns

  around her head, while on her forehead was a slim silver

  headband.

  She never failed to impress. She looked like a princess

  from an Arthurian tale; she was Cinderella, Rapunzel and

  Princess Alexandria all rolled into one.

  More than a little speechless, I presented her with a rose

  and smiling, she took my hand and drew me over the

  threshold.

  We were standing in a semi-circled lobby, where light

  streamed in from a windowed dome and classical porcelain

  figurines were silhouetted in the walls. In a corner near the

  door was an ornate brass container for storing umbrellas and in

  another was a large willow pattern vase, protruding from

  which was a fan-like aura of peacock feathers.

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  Despite what Eleanor had said about not letting my jaw

  drop, it was hard going not to. This was the stateliest residence

  I had ever stepped over the threshold of and couldn’t be further

  removed from the primitive bush house that I grew up in. I

  straightened myself and smiled nervously at Rachel. She

  smiled sympathetically and pumped the fingers of my hand,

  then led me down a wide hallway, past a number of framed

  ancestral portraits until we turned into the parlour.

  The parlour was long and crowned by a high, elaborate,

  plaster ceiling. Striped wallpaper adorned the walls and large

  paintings with substantial oak frames hung at intervals

  between the windows, which were flanked by tall, flowing

  drapes. In the centre of the room were a number of roll-arm

  sofas and a chaise longue around a marble fireplace, where Mr.

  and Mrs. Purdue were waiting. Above the fireplace hung a

  huge painting of what appeared to be Napoleon Bonaparte

  astride a magnificent white horse, his right arm brandishing a

  silver sword. The foreground of the picture was dark and he

  was silhouetted by a dramatically tumultuous and stormy sky.

  Rachel finally let my hand go and Mr. and Mrs. Purdue

  stood up.

  “Richard, this is my mother, Mrs. Emily Ellen Purdue.”

  I held Emily Ellen’s outstretched hand and gave her a

  deferential look.

  “Good afternoon Madam.” I spoke in a quiet voice and

  presented her with the remaining rose.

  She accepted it with a courteous nod and gazed at me with

  unabashed interest. She had the most penetrating dark brown

  eyes set in a pale face and was still a striking woman in spite

  of her forty-odd years. Now that something was happening, my

  stage fright seemed to vanish.

  “And this is my father, Mr. Alistair Montgomery Purdue.”

  “How do you do, sir.”

  He was slim, of average height and an aristocrat in manner.

  He would have been about fifty years of age and wore an

  expensive suit with slippers on his feet. His hair was streaked

  with flecks of grey, which further enhanced his distinguished

  appearance.

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  “How do you do son.” He spoke with a mature and

  cultured voice. We shook hands and he motioned us both to sit.

  We perched on an adjacent sofa and Rachel sat so close

  that our shoulders were touching. It was as though she were

  attempting to protect me. It flashed through my mind that the

  Purdues would have noticed and I wondered how they would

  react to that. By way of answer, Emily Ellen stood up.

  “Rachel, come with me and we’ll make some tea.” Rachel

  stood up reluctantly and dutifully followed her mother out,

  glancing at me with serious eyes as she brushed past.

  Now, it was just Alistair and me. Alistair seemed to be

  oblivious to my presence; he produced a pipe from his breast

  pocket and I was obliged to watch as he silently and studiously

  packed it with tobacco in a practiced and methodical way.

  When he finished he stood up.

  “We’ll go out on the porch shall we, where we can talk

  man to man.” I stood without speaking and followed him to the

  far end of the room, where in one corner was a pair of French

  window doors.

  He opened one of the doors and stepped out onto a

  verandah that ran along the side of the house, allowing me to

  exit before closing it again. He leaned against a handrail and

  unhurriedly applied a match to his pipe. After a few seconds,

  he emitted a cloud of smoke and blew out the match.

  His eyes steadied and refocused on me. They seemed steely

  and shrewd.

  “I understand you have moved to Whanganui recently.”

  Intuition told me that this would be verbal cat-and-mouse. He

  was the cat and I was...well, we both knew what I was. I would

  need to step carefully.

  “Yes sir. I have moved here from Patea, where I worked on

  the family farm.”

  “I presume then, that you moved here to be closer to

  Rachel.”

  “Yes sir. She is the only reason I came.”

  “That’s a considerable commitment on your part. You must

  think highly of her to have done that.”

  There was something in the way he said it which left me

  doubting the sincerity of his words. He knew why I was here

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  and he may be softening me for something I wasn’t going to

  like. I decided there would be no beating around the bush.

  “Yes sir, I do think highly of her and I would like your

  permission to court her.”

  “Ah, straight to the point.” He looked downwards in an

  abstract way, producing another puff of smoke as if pondering

  his response.

  I looked past him. Through the window doors I saw Rachel

  appear in the parlour, carrying some cake and plates on a silver

  tray. She seemed in a hurry and I could tell she was nervous.

  She put the tray on a table and straightened up, looking at me

  through the glass while not taking her eyes away from me.

  Alistair continued to look down as if still pondering.

  “You have heard of Rachel’s troubles of course. Does your

  family know anything about it?”

  I refocused on him; he was still looking away.

 
; “Yes sir, they do. Mother has spoken at length with Rachel

  and we believe that Rachel is the victim in all of this.”

  His gaze shifted pointedly to me.

  He now knew that the Wilsons were aware of the

  embarrassment of the Purdues. He would also know that I

  would be acutely aware that there wasn’t a queue of would-be

  suitors lining up for his daughter’s hand. This was a coup for

  me, as otherwise, this meeting was entirely on his terms.

  Then, Emily Ellen appeared with a silver tray containing a

  tea service. Rachel meanwhile, had drifted towards the doors,

  looking anxiously in my direction. She got as far as the door

  handle and was about to turn it, when she stopped. Emily Ellen

  had said something, her expression conveying a warning.

  Rachel’s arm fell away from the handle and with an apologetic

  look at me, she turned away. On our side of the doors,

  Alistair’s expression hardened.

  “Let me be frank with you young man. You are not exactly

  my idea of a heavenly suitor. Rachel is my only daughter and

  no one is more precious to me than she is. She has suffered and

  her happiness is my paramount concern. I won’t abide any

  cocky young man like you, thinking that her present

  circumstances will allow you to blow in with less than

  honourable intentions. Nor will I allow any miscreant to

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  manipulate her affections in order to become a liability to our

  family name and fortune – do I make myself clear?”

  Silence. His eyes bored into mine. It seemed obvious that

  he was trying to say in a longwinded way that I was probably a

  penniless scam-monger intent on seducing my way into a life

  of ease at his expense. I could feel my face burning and I knew

  that I would have to stay calm, for what I said next was crucial

  if my relationship with Rachel was to continue.

  “Yes sir, your point is explicitly clear…and in your shoes I

  would probably feel exactly as you do, but you must

  understand I am neither a miscreant nor a manipulator. I

  haven’t turned my back on a perfectly adequate former life and

  come all this way to live and work among strangers for no

  other reason than a cruel flirtation to exploit your wealth. I

  have lived perfectly well in the past and will continue to do so

  without any financial input from you. Now that I have found

  Rachel, her welfare is my only concern and if this weren’t

  absolutely true I wouldn’t be standing before you now. I am

  acutely aware that I have no wealth to bribe your approval, nor

  can I honestly say I can fulfil all of her expectations – or yours

  either, for that matter, and I’m sorry if you think me unworthy

  and that I offend on the basis of my financial position. Can you

  look me in the eye and honestly say before God, that my

  financial circumstances make me less honourable and even

  less deserving than those with wealth who have flocked here

  before me?”

  There was silence. He knew he couldn’t do that. I had

  challenged him and two deep lines appeared between his eyes.

  He was unaware that I knew a long line of affluent swell heads

  had come this way and collectively, they had failed to meet his

  approval. I was only the latest in a long line of hopefuls to

  stand before him.

  “I am the only one with Rachel’s approval and I can bring

  meaning to her life that nobody else can. All I ask is for the

  chance to prove it. For her, I have only the most honourable

  intentions. Her chastity, her dignity and the dignity of your

  family name will always be uppermost in my mind. As for

  fortune, I can categorically assure you that I intend to create

  my own; my pride would never allow me to sponge off yours!”

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  He understood exactly what I meant. He wanted a man-to-

  man talk and now he had one. He closely studied me with his

  hooded eyes. I had replied to his insinuations with pride and

  dignity; still, pride aside, he had genuine concerns that

  mirrored my own and there was nothing I could gain from

  being confrontational. I continued.

  “Instead of arguing, we would achieve a great deal more if

  we worked together for what is best for Rachel.”

  He didn’t immediately respond. He didn’t look happy, but

  neither did he appear to be angry. He blandly continued to

  study me.

  “All right. I concede that you may have a valid point or

  two. It would seem that we both now understand each other,

  although that doesn’t mean I have agreed that you may court

  her. I will have to give that my earnest consideration before

  any decision is made.”

  Before he could continue further, the door behind him

  opened and Emily Ellen thrust her head out.

  “Are you two coming in? The tea’s going cold.”

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  Chapter Fifteen

  CAPE COLONY, South Africa. Somewhere

  West of Rensburg

  Lady Sarah sat mute and expressionless while I collected the

  dead Boer’s rifle, revolver and horse. Then I ransacked his

  saddlebags and pockets for any items or information that might

  prove to be useful. In them, I found clips of ammunition for

  the Mauser and loose cartridges for the Tranter inside a

  tobacco tin. There was also some notepaper, a pencil, a bottle

  of whisky, some mealies and a pair of binoculars.

  After that, I draped him over his horse and carried his body

  over a rise so it could not be seen from the road. The last thing

  we needed was for a group of Boers to come along and find

  him lying there dead, for that would ensure they would come

  looking for us.

  When I finished, I tied his horse to the tailgate along with

  the other horse and approached Sarah.

  “We need to get out of here. They would not have left him

  to deal with us alone unless he only had a short distance to

  travel. That means there must be another Boer commando only

  a few miles away. We need to scram.”

  I reinstated the canvas hood to provide Sarah with some

  shade and turning the wagon around, we headed back the way

  we came. It took a further two hours to return to the road we

  were originally on and I stopped to stretch our legs. It was now

  late afternoon and high thin cloud had covered the sky from

  horizon to horizon, taking some of the bite from the sun – but,

  if anything, the temperature seemed to soar even higher.

  We had lost four or more hours and there was no chance of

  reaching Duntroon that day unless we travelled at night,

  assuming that we didn’t get lost in the dark. I needed to assess

  the risk and whether or not Sarah would be up to it.

  She was beginning to acquire slits for eyes, which was

  really no surprise. We had been on the road for fourteen hours

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  and neither Sarah nor the horses could go on indefinitely. The

  horses had not had anything to eat or drink since leaving

  Rensburg and this environment was more punishing than most.

  That clinched it then – we would continue for now, b
ut stop to

  sleep. It would increase the chance of capture by a Boer patrol,

  but there was no avoiding it.

  We continued on until almost dark and I pulled off the

  roadway. The horse drawing the wagon could hardly take

  another step, so I unharnessed it. Then I rigged a rope through

  the bridles of the horses and tied the ends to the wagon, so they

  could lie down and rest. That would allow them some freedom

  of movement and prevent them from sneaking off during the

  night.

  Sarah was still subdued. She hadn’t had a good day either.

  Not many women had to kill someone during the course of

  their travels and I understood how she felt. Not just any

  woman could have done it either and she had my respect. For a

  pampered, upper class bitch, she sure had balls. When I

  thought about that act she put on to draw the Boer in, I was

  amazed – had she excelled in drama, then today would be

  without doubt the performance to eclipse all previous

  performances. When I thought about it, even her being here in

  this primitive part of the world was quite remarkable, for it

  would be way too far from the comfort zone of your average

  aristocrat.

  There was no doubt that I owed her my life. That Boer was

  the one with his finger on the trigger and sooner or later the

  muzzle would have swung past and he would have killed me. I

  certainly know what I would have done in his shoes.

  Unfortunately for him, I had Sarah and that made all the

  difference. It seems funny saying that, for she would have to

  be the most unlikely saviour I could possibly imagine.

  Our only food, except for the dead Boer’s mealies, was

  some water and my army issue biscuit, which was so dry that it

  would take an hour of soaking in a mug of steaming tea before

  it would be soft enough for Sarah to eat. We didn’t have a mug

  of steaming tea, so she could have the mealies. I don’t

  precisely know what was in them, except that they were some

  sort of oatmeal cookie. Nonetheless, it would have to do.

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  The light was beginning to fade and Sarah wearily lowered

  herself onto the ground. Today had been an excruciatingly

  long, hard day. Tonight, there would be no other option but to

  sleep on the ground, so there would be a long night to endure

  as well. I took the blankets off the dead Boer’s saddle and

  choosing a spot where there appeared to be the least lumps and