Last Stand At Majuba Hill (Simon Fonthill Series)

by John Wilcox

  ‘How can I help you, Anna?’

  She turned to him, as though in relief.

  ‘Oh thank you, Simon.’ She paused and then looked up at him in that familiar way through her eyelashes. For a moment it seemed that the coquette was back. ‘I have no right to ask you, but I must.’

  Simon steeled his heart. ‘What can I do?’

  ‘Please, you can . . . you can . . . take me to the British camp and give me refuge there.’

  His eyes widened. ‘Refuge? From whom?’

  ‘From von Bethman, my brother-in-law.’

  ‘Brother-in-law! I thought you were cousins. You are married, then?’

  ‘No, although I was. He is my late husband’s step-brother.’

  Simon sighed. ‘You had better tell me what has happened, although I am not sure that I can guarantee you entry to the British camp.’ He thought of adding, ‘as an agent of the German government’ but thought better of it.

  ‘Yes, yes, of course. It must seem strange to you.’ She was nodding now, her eyes widened, all traces of the coquette departed. ‘Let me tell you what has happened and then,’ it was her turn to sigh, ‘I must tell you my background. After that perhaps you will understand.’

  She untied the veil at her throat and took off the absurd hat, shaking her head so that the lustrous coils of her hair loosened somewhat and gleamed in the afternoon sun.

  ‘I had been riding - to the north of the Boer camp - for exercise and returned to find the camp agog with the fact that you had just departed. My servant described you and I realised immediately who it was. And Simon,’ she looked up at him again through her lashes, ‘my heart leapt a little.’

  Simon disregarded this. ‘What the hell were you doing in the Boer camp anyway? A foreign army in the field, fighting a war, is no place for a German countess, I would have thought.’

  ‘I was with Wilhelm, of course.’

  ‘Ah yes, your cousin - or brother-in-law, or whatever.’

  ‘Brother-in-law. I don’t know why he calls me his cousin when we meet strangers.’ She shrugged. ‘Perhaps it is because he wants to disabuse them of the idea that we are . . . are . . . closer than we are. In Prussia, you see - sorry, we must call it Germany now - marriages between first cousins are frowned upon.’

  ‘Go on with your story.’

  ‘When I returned to hear that you had just left, my first reaction was to ride after you. Then,’ she hesitated, ‘I realised that I could not. I had vowed never to see you again. Then Wilhelm strode up. He was incredibly angry, having just left you, and he accused me of riding off on some assignation to meet you. He is incredibly jealous, you see, Simon.’

  ‘Does he have reason to be? Are you lovers?’

  ‘No, no, never. In fact, I hate him.’ The look on her face was beyond dissembling, and despite himself, Simon was stirred. He laid a hand on her arm and, immediately and with relief, she covered it with her own. ‘And never more so than now. He seized my riding crop and whipped my leg, so - look.’ She pulled up her riding habit and underskirt and revealed two red weals on her knee, just above the boot. ‘Of course, this frightened the horse and she bolted, and then and there I decided to keep on riding and find you.’

  ‘Good God! The swine!’ Simon shook his head in disbelief. ‘But why do you stay with him if you hate him so? What sort of hold does he have on you?’

  ‘Ah, yes. Time to tell you all, I think, my dear.’ She cast an anxious eye over the hills to their right. ‘But I must be quick. It could be that Wilhelm has ridden after me and we must be careful.’

  ‘I will keep watch. Tell me your story.’

  ‘Very well. My mother was English and my father was Prussian; they are both dead now. Our home was in Essen, and ten years ago, after my childhood at school in Kent, I returned there and, under pressure from my parents, married a friend of theirs, Ernst Scheel. He was much older than me and a childless widower, but I grew to love him for his gentleness and kindness.’

  For a moment her voice fell away. Then she cleared her throat and continued. ‘We were happy. Ernst was a member of the Krupps family and served on the board. We lived well because the company was flourishing, particularly after the war with France and Bismarck’s terrible policy of “blood and iron”.’ Her quick glance to Simon now was one almost of apology. ‘I was able to dress well and I suppose you could say that I was spoilt. We tried for children but were unsuccessful. Then, in an act of stupidity and selfishness, I ruined our happiness.’

  Simon gripped her hand. ‘Look, Anna, you don’t have to tell me all of this.’

  She smiled through the tears that were now in her eyes. ‘Ach, but I do, Simon,’ she said, and he realised that this was the first time he had heard her voice betray her Teutonic origins. ‘What is it that they say - that confession is good for the soul. So let me confess to you.

  ‘About seven years ago I met a young English officer. He was very like you - younger than me, handsome and impulsive. I loved Ernst, but even so, I succumbed to this young man.’ She looked Simon fully in the face. ‘When I first met you I thought that, somehow, he had returned, at least in spirit. That is why . . . but never mind that. I became pregnant by him. My young man then disappeared very quickly.’

  ‘The bounder!’

  Anna shook her head. ‘No. I don’t blame him. He had no money and was trying to make his way in the British Army. A scandal would have finished his career. I don’t blame him, but it was very sad for me at the time.’

  ‘What happened? Was there . . . was there . . . an abortion?’

  ‘No. I confessed to Ernst, but he insisted that the baby was a love child and demanded life. He forgave me and said that the child should be brought up as his own - the baby we had long wanted. He was a very fine man.’

  A silence fell between them. The sun had long slipped away behind the Drakensbergs to the west and long shadows were falling over the plain. Somewhere the haw-di-haw bird uttered its eponymous cry.

  Simon coughed. ‘A fine man indeed. How did he die?’

  ‘He suffered a heart attack shortly after my son was born. He was only forty-nine. I named the boy Ernst, after him.’

  ‘Was this, er, public knowledge, or at least within the family?’

  ‘No. Ernst’s family are - what is the English phrase - very strait-laced, I think you say. He felt that they should not know, in case, once he had gone, it affected their attitude to the boy. The money, you see, came from the family business and could have been withdrawn and we would have been penniless. So everybody believed that Ernst was the father. Except . . .’

  ‘Von Bethman?’

  ‘To this day I do not know how he found out. We were never close, but a little time after Ernst’s death, he confronted me - he even knew the name of the father. He threatened to tell the family, which would have meant our ruin.’

  ‘The bastard!’

  Anna smiled through her tears. ‘Ah, Simon, you do so remind me of . . . of . . . no, never mind. I always knew that Wilhelm desired me and I expected that he would demand that we should marry. But to my surprise, he did not do so.’

  Simon swung his head as, out of the corner of his eye, he thought he saw a flash of light reflected high on the hillside to his right. A harness buckle, perhaps? But he could see nothing move. He asked, ‘But he made some conditions, eh?’

  ‘Oh yes. He insisted that the boy should remain in Germany and he also said that he wanted me to take up Ernst’s seat on the board of Krupps - he has some influence there, you know - and travel with him on his sales expeditions around the world.’

  ‘What a strange thing to demand. Why would he do that?’

  ‘I think there were two reasons. First, he realised that I needed some role to fulfil me and he knew that I possessed some - what shall I call them? - social skills that would help him in his work. Second, I believe that he hoped that working with him might make me think more highly of him, so that when he did propose, I would accept.’

  ‘And did
it?’

  ‘No. He is a mean, manipulative man and very cruel. That is why I was so fearful for you in that duel. He is jealous, and that is why I have never encouraged any man, because I was afraid that Wilhelm would try to take little Ernst away from me.’

  Simon raised an eyebrow. ‘No encouragement? What about that evening in Bloemfontein?’

  She had the grace to blush. ‘Ah, Simon, you are right to rebuke me. You so reminded me of . . . Let us say you slipped under my guard. I fear that I was not made to be chaste all my life, and . . .’

  Suddenly she threw her arms around him and kissed him fully on the lips. He responded ardently for a brief moment then, slowly, he untangled her arms, held both of her hands in his and spoke to her slowly, his face a few inches away from hers.

  ‘Anna, I think you were trying to seduce me so that you could discover what exactly I was doing in Bloemfontein.’

  She shook her head vigorously. ‘No, no, Simon. I knew what you were doing there - that charming old English gentleman with the monocle - Colonel somebody or other - told me all about it when he danced with me.’

  Simon sighed. So much for Bentley’s warning about Anna being a dangerous woman! He tried again. ‘But Anna, I know that you came into my room at Bloemfontein and went through my clothes, looking for Brand’s letter to Colley.’

  Her eyes widened. ‘Yes, that’s true. How clever of you to know! Wilhelm made me do it - he has often forced me to do little things like that. He is very close to Bismarck, you see, and likes to please him by sending titbits back to him in Berlin. But they have all seemed rather harmless to me - not state secrets or anything like that. I never expected for a minute that I would find that letter, but it did give me a chance of leaving you my letter. I am not really a spy, some sort of femme fatale.’ She drew away from him and a look of disdain distorted her features. ‘And I would never use my body for that purpose.’

  Then she leaned across to him again and took his hand. ‘Simon, please believe me.’

  Simon looked deeply into her eyes. They were wide and innocent and lovely. He swallowed and forced his brain to work.

  ‘What do you hope to do in the British camp? Surely by riding away you are deserting your child back in Essen?’

  She frowned and nodded. ‘Yes. This terrifies me. Wilhelm has never hit me before but I can see now that he is close to the edge and will force himself upon me. I realise that I cannot stay with him. You see,’ she kissed him artlessly, quite chastely, on the cheek, ‘I have been worried about him for some time - since your duel, in fact. So I have made a contingency, I think you call it. I have been able to put some money into a bank account in London and I have arranged with my nanny looking after Ernst in Essen,’ she grinned, ‘she is Scottish and big, to take the boy quickly away to London when she receives a cable from me. I hope that General Colley will give me shelter and allow me to cable back to her. I could not do that, of course, from the Boer camp with Wilhelm there.’

  They sat in silence for a while. Then Anna began to speak again, her eyes downcast. ‘Simon, I need you to intercede for me with the general. I will make no further demands on you. I am thirty-two years old now with a child - far too old for you, even if you . . . ah . . . desired me - which I am sure you do not now. So I can make my own way and you must not feel sorry for me. But . . .’ she looked up at him through her eyelashes in that familiar, heart-dropping way, ‘I will always, always be grateful to you.’

  Slowly, ignoring the messages his brain was trying to send him, Simon bent his head to kiss her, just as the first bullet cracked into the rock above his head, sending splinters flying and making the horses rear. The second caught the sleeve of his jacket and he sprang to his feet, swinging Anna away and attempting to push her behind the rock, but as he caught her arm, the third round took her fully in the breast, knocking her over so that she sprawled backwards on to the grass, a red stain spreading quickly across her blouse.

  ‘Anna!’ He threw himself upon her as a fourth bullet tore into the grass near his shoulder. Whoever was shooting had a quick-loading rifle and a keen eye. Simon desperately splayed his feet to gain a footing in the loose sand and grass and, still lying on top of Anna to protect her, somehow managed to haul her around the corner of the rock, further into the crevice out of the line of fire. He cradled her in his arms and held her close, so that her blood spread across his own shirt. He inhaled the fragrance of her perfume and slapped her face gently as he looked into her eyes. But they were sightless. She was quite dead.

  For a moment he rocked her gently. Then he became aware that there had been no more shots for nearly a minute. Had the sniper gone? No. More likely he was manoeuvring to gain a sight line into the crevice - or advancing now to complete the kill. Simon looked towards his horse, but the rifle holster was empty and he remembered that, of course, he and the others had ridden to the Boer camp unarmed. He was quite defenceless against this unknown, unseen marksman. Gently, he lowered Anna to the ground, and picked up the cavalry lance, with its white flag still attached. At least, perhaps he could throw the damned thing at the killer as he advanced. Then, with great caution, he poked his head over the rock and slowly raised his field glasses to his eye. Yes. There he was, a horseman picking his way carefully down the hillside opposite; coming towards him, white shirt quite conspicuous, rifle athwart the saddle. Von Bethman advancing to complete the execution.

  Simon looked around him in desperation. The rock above him offered little protection and he could easily be picked off as he climbed higher. If he mounted now and fled he could possibly outride the German, but . . . He glanced down at Anna, all colour gone from her cheeks as she lay crumpled on the ground, her blouse now completely scarlet. He felt he could not leave her like that. Perhaps . . . He chewed his lip and thought hard. He would wait hidden until the last minute, then stampede the horses into von Bethman and charge him with the lance. A hundred to one chance, but better than nothing.

  He eased the field glasses above the rock again and focused on the figure now trotting leisurely across the flat valley, in no hurry to complete his kill, for they were alone in this wild landscape.

  As he watched, he saw the German rein in, stand in his stirrups with some hesitation and raise his hand to shield his eyes as he stared to the south-east, around the rock to Simon’s right. Then Simon heard the thud of hooves and heard Jenkins’s cry, ‘There’s the bastard, over there, look you,’ as his two companions rounded the rock and pulled up their horses.

  ‘Quick,’ shouted Simon. ‘Help me with her - on my horse. I’m afraid she’s dead, but I want to take her.’ He mounted and Hardy picked up the lifeless form and unceremoniously bundled it across the saddle in front of Simon. ‘Ride for your life,’ screamed Simon. ‘He will remember that we are unarmed. Go now, now.’

  Heads down, the three dug in their heels, and their wide-eyed mounts, followed by Anna’s riderless horse, thundered around the rock and set off at full gallop back towards Mount Prospect. Two rifle reports followed them as von Bethman belatedly recognised the unarmed rescuers, but it was too late. They were away and safe.

  Chapter 13

  Eventually they allowed their panting horses to slow to a walk and crossed the lines of the laagered waggons at Mount Prospect without further incident. As they rode, Simon cushioned Anna’s head and attempted to answer his companions’ questions. At the instigation of a suspicious Jenkins, they had, it seemed pulled up only half a mile along the track to wait for Simon and had galloped back on hearing the first shot. But Simon was in no mood to recount Anna’s story. At first he was unsure whether von Bethman had shot at him or deliberately at Anna. Then he realised that the German had obviously been aiming for him, desperate to kill the man who seemed to be taking away his love, and that Anna had intercepted the shot.

  Once again Simon’s brain began to swim as he attempted, within his sullen silence, to make sense of it all. Had he loved Anna? He gave an almost imperceptible shake of the head. No. Not love. It wa
s Alice that he loved and always would. And yet . . . what would have happened had he taken Anna back to camp and interceded on her behalf with the general? Would he have been able to resist her? Probably not. He looked down and touched her cold cheek - and then another thought struck him. Had this all been a great subterfuge to enable her to penetrate the British headquarters and report back to the Boers? Again, no. She would have been so shrouded with suspicion that it would have been impossible for her to have carried out any sort of spying mission, and in any case the war was almost over, wasn’t it? And why would von Bethman have intervened if she was successfully spinning her web of deception? He remembered the utter conviction with which she had told him her story. Anna Scheel had not been lying. She had become just another victim of this war and of one man’s black jealousy. Simon’s thoughts turned finally to Anna’s child. Little Ernst would now quite probably be brought up under the close supervision of von Bethman, his mother’s killer and a man who could not possibly bear any love for the child. Simon’s mouth set in a hard line. There was only one solution to that problem. He decided then and there that he would have to kill von Bethman.

  His immediate problem, however, was what to tell Colley. As the three crossed the lines, he directed Jenkins and Hardy to take Anna’s body to the sick bay while he peeled off to report to the general. He paused for a moment outside the C-in-C’s tent while he rehearsed what to say. He had to confess that the story sounded less than credible, but decided to tell Colley everything, except the events leading up to the duel, and the duel itself.