Forgiven_BooksGoSocial Historical Fiction

by Geoff Lawson

  the locking lever under the trigger guard open and loaded both

  barrels. Then, I realised that in my panic I had made another

  mistake – I should have ordered the owner to go straight to

  Colonel Saunders and raise the alarm. I turned to Sarah.

  “This is for you – I know you know what to do with it. I

  must go again, I’ve got to find the boys and get them here to

  protect you. Then, I’ve got to see Saunders and tell him what’s

  going on. Once I’m out the door, lock it and don’t let anyone in

  until my boys get here.”

  She blinked. She was frightened and stared adversely at the

  shotgun. I could tell she wasn’t at all comfortable with the idea

  of having to shoot another person and neither was she happy

  about me leaving, either.

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  “Look, I’m probably over-reacting, but we do need to be

  careful. Things will be all right, you’ll see.” I gave her a smile.

  She nodded nervously, her eyes appealing me not to leave,

  but I slipped out the door.

  I reached the bottom of the stairs and saw there was still no

  one at the desk. I also noticed that the building had acquired

  the silence of a mortuary. I retraced my steps to the kitchen and

  was not too surprised to find it deserted. The cook had

  vanished and left everything – bowls, peelings, tins with lids

  off and flour spilt on the bench. I re-emerged and found the

  proprietor’s office, only to discover that he too, was gone. This

  wasn’t good; everyone had flown the coop. Now what would I

  do? Sarah was entirely alone and had no one to raise the alarm

  if things went bad.

  I sat down to think– only one locked door stood between

  Smidt and Sarah – but he wouldn’t know that. Not yet,

  anyway. He wouldn’t know anything about the shotgun either.

  Would I have enough time to reach the railway station? Hell, I

  couldn’t go. If he saw me leave he’d be in like a robber’s dog

  and if anything happened to her I would never forgive myself.

  Neither would her husband, you can be sure of that. He would

  devote the rest of his life to making mine as miserable as

  possible.

  I slowly climbed back up the stairs and Sarah let me in.

  She was overjoyed to see me again and flung her arms around

  me. Her face was white and her fear was palpable. We sat

  down and I explained the situation; there was nothing left to do

  but wait. With a bit of luck the proprietor would be standing in

  Saunders’ tent right now, complaining about a crazy soldier

  and that woman in his best suite. The only thing that I couldn’t

  be sure of was who would get here first– Saunders or Smidt.

  We waited. The building was silent. Had Smidt noticed the

  staff had bolted? If he was still watching you can bet he had.

  The look on the cook’s face would tell him everything he

  needed to know. That meant he could be in the building now.

  What would he do? Did I wait for him to show his hand or did

  I take the initiative? If so then how, exactly, did I do that?

  We waited, neither of us saying a word.

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  I had an idea. Suppose he knew that she occupied this

  room; he must do, he would have seen me waving and her

  waving back from the window – my third mistake! So what if

  we changed rooms? That could confuse him and give us some

  time. Cradling the shotgun I unlocked the door and peered out

  – there was no one there.

  I held Sarah’s arm and we tiptoed down the hallway to the

  room at the far end of the corridor. The door was unlocked and

  the key was inside. That gave me another idea. If this key were

  in the lock, then the keys to all the other rooms would be too. I

  returned to the hallway and locked the doors of all six rooms

  and removed the keys to my pocket before tiptoeing back to

  the room at the end of the passage.

  Then I locked the door, removed the key and peered

  through the keyhole. Now I could see all the way down the

  passage and anyone creeping along it. Smidt would have no

  idea where we were and would have to hammer down every

  door until he found us. I saw a chair and dropped into it. My

  heart was pounding but my head was deadly calm. For the first

  time in the last half hour, I felt as though the balance had

  swung my way.

  I hauled myself out of the chair and cautiously approached

  the window, careful not to expose myself to anyone watching

  from the outside. We were now on the other side of the

  building, looking down on the roof next door. The window

  opened onto a narrow fire escape, which ended with a ladder to

  a blind alley that was probably for use by the staff. At the end

  of the alley was a doorway where a number of rubbish bins

  stood alongside. Anyone trying to get us via the fire escape

  could only enter the alley from the street and would be seen.

  We had both sides covered. Just you try and get us now,

  Smidt! I opened the lower sash of the window to its full height

  and bade Sarah to sit on the windowsill. From there she could

  duck her head out and check the alley. Then, I took station by

  the door. Ten minutes must have gone by, when it occurred to

  me that the train must be due soon, so the boys would be

  wondering where the hell I was. With a bit of luck, one should

  come looking for me.

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  We waited. Every half minute Sarah would check the alley

  and I would scan the passage through the keyhole. Then I

  heard voices from downstairs. Someone sounded threatening.

  Sarah heard it too; briefly, there was muffled arguing. I

  strained to hear and constantly scanned the keyhole in an

  attempt to piece together what it could mean. I didn’t have

  long to wait.

  A figure appeared at the head of the stairs. It was Steele! I

  let out a sigh of relief, then shock; horror – Smidt was behind

  him and brandishing one of those Mauser auto-loading pistols!

  They stopped in front of room one and Smidt said something

  to Steele. Steele tried the door handle. It was locked.

  “M’lady, Ritchie, are you in there?” called Steele. No one

  answered.

  “M’lady, it’s Steele. Are you in there?” Again, there was no

  answer. I could see Smidt was getting agitated. Time was

  something he didn’t have. He roughly grabbed Steele by the

  collar.

  “M’lady! You better come out. I do not have time to

  discuss this. If you do not come out, I will shoot this soldier

  and kick down your door. Do you understand?” There was no

  response.

  “I do not joke. If you come out, no one will be hurt. If not,

  I will kill. Do you understand?”

  Half a minute ticked by. Reluctantly, Sarah opened the

  door to our room and stood silhouetted in the doorway.

  “Please don’t shoot. I’m over here.” Their heads swung

  around.

  “Where is that soldier friend of yours?”

  Sarah seemed to blanch; she pointed limply towards the

  open window behind her.

  “He went
down the fire escape to get help.”

  Smidt thrust Steele in Sarah’s direction. Sarah stepped

  backwards into the room, dread etched on her face. She

  bumped into a chair and turned, her eyes downcast, knowing

  what was coming and unable to look. She stumbled over to the

  window to stand silhouetted by the outside light; her forehead

  lowered against the sash and her back to the room.

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  Smidt roughly pushed Steele through the doorway in her

  direction. Steele was propelled forward a few steps before he

  regained his balance and Smidt followed. As he stepped past

  the edge of the open door he paused, while he swiftly swung

  his pistol and his scrutiny in an arc around the room. I was

  lying on the floor behind the door, virtually at his feet. Too

  late, he saw the twin muzzles of a shotgun. I fired both barrels.

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  Chapter Twenty

  RENSBURG, Cape Colony. December 1899

  The trip back to Rensburg was agonisingly slow. Due to the

  fear of ambush, trains rarely travelled faster than a jogging

  speed so if the tracks were sabotaged they could stop in a

  hurry. That also gave them the additional benefit of being able

  to reverse a lot faster than would otherwise be the case.

  We squatted down in a high-sided wagon which was not

  sprung for the comfort of passengers, so it bucked and rattled

  its way along while we leaned on our saddles in an attempt to

  get comfortable. Walsh complained about the inability of the

  railway to design anything that even vaguely resembled a

  decent goods wagon, while the rest of us hunkered down and

  generally ignored him. The incessant rumble of steel wheels on

  the rails numbed our senses, although its steel sides did

  provide us with protection from bullets.

  The lads played cards and told tall stories until it was too

  dark to see, then wrapped themselves in blankets and

  attempted to sleep. In a mood for serious contemplation, I put

  Sarah’s letter in the satchel that Saunders had given me and

  pulled her photograph from the top pocket of my jacket;

  gazing intently at the image in the fading light while I thought

  about all the things that had happened in the last few days.

  For Sarah, they had been terrifying and ultimately life-

  changing. Throughout, I had inadvertently played a major role

  and when I thought about how easily it could have gone badly,

  I broke out in a cold sweat. It was ironic, I suppose, that a wild

  colonial boy from Maoriland could fundamentally influence

  her life, while not consciously intending to. How would I

  explain that to the folks back home? No one would believe it. I

  was also incredibly lucky. I had survived it all and I would

  keep the Tranter as a souvenir of my near-death experience. I’d

  keep the empty cartridge case too – it was all that remained of

  the only bullet that had so far actually shot me. I also had

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  Smidt’s Mauser pistol. I don’t like it much – as a handgun it

  was bulky and ugly, but the only auto-loading pistol I had ever

  actually seen.

  There was no doubt at all about Smidt’s fate. Blood had

  oozed from countless puncture wounds to his face, neck, arms

  and torso. His eyes were sightless, his face covered with flecks

  of blood and flesh, his breathing rasped.

  “Curse you, bastard,” he’d wheezed through shredded lips.

  Then he’d mumbled something incoherent in German. I’d

  picked up his discarded pistol and leaned over him.

  “Those who live by the sword will die by it.”

  I doubt that he heard me. His clothing hid a large part of

  the damage to his upper body, but his head had not been so

  lucky. The right side was a pulped and bloodied mess;

  instinctively, he had turned his face away from the inevitable

  blast of birdshot that followed. There was no skin or hair left;

  his ear was gone. His neck was mangled and blood streamed in

  multiple miniature fountains from ruptured arteries. Mere

  seconds later, he convulsed and died.

  “Jesus,” mumbled Steele. He had walked over and stood

  staring down at Smidt, a look of revulsion creeping over his

  face. Then he spun and grabbed a blanket off the bed in the

  corner and threw it over Smidt’s corpse, although it had hardly

  settled before a circle of crimson began to ooze from under it.

  It was unfortunate that Sarah had to bear witness to this;

  she had suffered too much shock in too short a time – even the

  inbuilt dignity of her class could no longer stem her anguish.

  She turned away from the window and stared at me with a

  stricken look, as if willing that I was still alive. Quick to

  realise that I was, she stumbled, sobbing, across the room and

  grabbed me in a vice-like grip, her face the colour of chalk.

  A few minutes later, the sound of many feet tromping up

  the stairs heralded the arrival of Saunders with a squad of

  heavies and the proprietor in tow. While Saunders lifted a

  corner of the blanket and gasped, I walked Sarah back to her

  room, consoling her as well as I could while a camp medic

  administered her with sleeping powder. She had hold of my

  hand and wouldn’t allow me to leave, so I stayed, perched on a

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  chair beside the bed, her nearside hand grasped firmly in both

  of mine.

  Saunders was not far behind; he entered the room,

  appraising everything he saw and listened attentively, his

  expression sharply focused on me while I explained everything

  that had happened and how it was that I knew about Smidt.

  When I finished he was silent for a minute.

  “You better be here when she wakes up, or they’ll hear her

  scream in Cape Town. If that happens you’ll be in trouble my

  boy, I’ll find something to charge you with.” Surprise must

  have registered on my face. He grinned and gave me a pat on

  the shoulder.

  “Good work son.” He pointed to Smidt’s pistol. “Do you

  know how to use that?”

  “Not really sir, I prefer revolvers.”

  “Here’s my revolver. If anyone else tries anything, shoot

  them too. I’ll put your boys in the room next door and they can

  rotate in pairs at guarding the lobby.”

  Saunders left and I closed and locked the door behind him.

  Sarah seemed to have finally settled and before he’d gone, the

  medic had covered her with a blanket. I tiptoed over to check

  on her, gazing down on her sleeping form. Poor thing; she had

  been to hell and back the last few days. Every time it appeared

  it couldn’t get worse it had.

  I bent over and smoothed the blanket around her. I don’t

  know why I did that; it was the doting thing again. There was

  something about the way she lay that made me think of a little

  girl who was trapped in a horrible dream. Imagine Alice, after

  a bad day through the looking glass; a day when the Cheshire

  Cat had inexplicably turned evil and relentlessly stalked her, its

  sadistic, grinning, hovering mouth salivating, following her

 
through garden and dale, overpowering her senses with terror.

  I stepped back and took another look at her red, puffy eyes;

  now thankfully closed in repose. As I looked, feelings of

  having some responsibility for this mess settled over me, for

  only two days ago she had killed someone while responding to

  a situation I had put her in. That she had responded

  magnificently was a matter of record, however if I hadn’t

  involved her in my desperate scheme to escape she would

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  never have had to. I couldn’t blame myself for what happened

  today though. I only did what I was duty-bound to do under the

  circumstances and I would do it all again, even though the

  appalling sight of Smidt’s near-decapitated head and the

  knowledge I had done that, had shocked me.

  I sighed involuntarily and allowed my gaze to roam the

  room. My presence with m’lady in her room while she slept

  would have been scandalous under normal circumstances, but

  the necessities of war had a way of cancelling conventional

  moralities out.

  Due to a lack of any wardrobe in the room her suitcases

  were spread in one corner with the lids unstrapped. Next to

  them stood a delicate cast-iron clothes rack with little trundler

  wheels on its feet and a variety of skirts and blouses were

  suspended from a brass crossbar. The walls were adobe mud

  brick that were unlined and painted with whitewash, reflecting

  some badly-needed light. Without it, this room would be quite

  dark otherwise.

  I decided to make myself comfortable by draping myself

  over the sofa in the corner, so I wriggled to settle in, the

  shotgun by my feet and the revolver on the floor. Suddenly I

  felt dog-tired. I was full of stress that I needed to let go. I’d

  had enough excitement for one day. I also realised that little

  more than an hour ago I was sitting on this very sofa, sipping

  tea while Sarah was telling me how much she admired me.

  Two mornings after the incident at the hotel, I waved

  farewell to Sarah. Holding her hand, I assisted her into the

  express wagon and she settled in beside her new driver, an

  officer of the 9th Dragoons.

  “Well, goodbye Sarah,” I said lightly, letting her hand go.

  “I hope you have a good trip home.”

  She smiled benignly, adjusting the position of some carry-

  bags at her feet before turning her gaze back on me. She