Yesterday's Promise

by Linda Lee Chaikin

  Darinda walked away so she wouldn’t need to listen to Arcilla’s chatter, concentrating instead on Parnell. He saw her and stopped where he was. His face, she noted, wore a mask of weariness but nothing more. The first flush of disappointment assailed her. He had failed to get the map. She could see it in his stance, the way he did not come immediately toward her.

  She felt frustration, then anger. Must he always fail her?

  She walked toward him across the yard, so intense on watching him that she ignored her steps—steps too close to some shady rocks and boulders.

  A faint movement among the rocks brought a prickle of fear, and she halted. Shock went through her spine when she saw what had caught the corner of her eye. There, not more than six feet from her, a snake coiled and raised itself to an upright striking position while weaving slightly. It was perhaps four feet long, slender, a light gray-brown with black scale edgings. Across its broadly spread neck, she saw a series of irregular dark bands—the deadly spitting cobra.

  Darinda froze, while all about her the exchange of talk and laughter mocked the danger she was in. No one noticed her dilemma. At this moment it seemed no one even knew she existed. And she was not armed…but even if had she her pistol, she knew she couldn’t draw it. One threatening move, and the cobra would strike, spitting its venom accurately to a distance of eight feet, venom that was ejected straight out of the front of the fangs toward the face of the intruder. Even a drop was extremely painful and injurious if it struck the eyes. She’d once had her favorite guard dog go blind from such an attack.

  Parnell. Yes, Parnell had been watching her, and he was armed!

  “Parnell,” she whispered. Her throat went dry, and the fear sent a trickle of perspiration down her temple. “Do something…” She doubted he could possibly hear her whisper, but he should realize that since she’d stopped dead in her tracks, something was very wrong.

  But the moments ticked by, trapping her in fear. She could try to back away an inch at a time, try to fling her hands over her face, but doing all that while the cobra was so close—

  She shifted her eyes from the cobra toward Parnell. Why didn’t he lift his rifle? Why didn’t he save her? He stood staring at the cobra, white faced with a dazed, glassy look in his eyes.

  Then she heard a gunshot, and the cobra’s head splattered, but not before she felt venom squirt against her face, the warm fluid running down her skin.

  Darinda heard Arcilla cry out as she ran across the dusty yard in her direction. Darinda looked and saw that it was Captain Retford who had fired the bullet. In an instant he was at her side, taking her elbow and pulling her quickly toward the barrels of drinking water under the tree.

  “Close your eyes and wash it all off,” he ordered. “You’ll be all right. Just as long as you’ve no open scratches. That’s right, don’t get any in your eyes. All right, now?”

  Her hands shaking and dripping with the warm water, the front of her riding habit wet, she leaned against the barrels, breathing hard, and looked up at him. Darinda was surprised to see amusement in the flinty blue eyes that gazed back, not alarm, not even sympathy. His white teeth gleamed against his tanned skin as he smiled, the dust of travel and sweat streaking his handsomely rugged face. The wind stirred the hair across his forehead, hair the color of ripened wheat.

  He was amused!

  “Next time, Miss Bley, watch where you walk—and keep away from the rocks and tall grass.” His smile deepened as he pointed his chin back over his shoulder. “I won’t always be around to protect you when your future husband freezes.”

  She could have spat her own venom into his eyes, but she was speechless from shock.

  He was still smiling as he lifted his dusty hat an inch from his head and set it back down again. “Good day, Miss.”

  Trembling from both fear and rage, she leaned against the tree and watched him walk away toward the horses.

  She was still beside the water when the others came rushing up.

  “Darinda, you’re all right, my dear?” Julien asked, his voice tremulous with emotion. He put an arm around her shoulders and drew her toward him.

  She nodded. “I’m not hurt, Grandfather. It was my fault. I really knew better than to walk near the rocks like that.”

  “A cobra…” Arcilla shuddered. “You were brave, Darinda. I should have screamed and screamed.”

  “And been struck with venom more than once,” Darinda managed. “It’s silly to scream. What good does it do?”

  Arcilla lifted her dimpled chin defensively and stepped closer to Peter. “I wouldn’t be able to keep myself from screaming. After all, I’ve never looked into the eyes of a cobra before. It…it was horrid!” she shivered.

  “Those filthy rocks.” Julien’s anxious voice rose with anger, and he turned sharply toward the Bantu. Several of the younger children and boys huddled together some feet away, looking on and whispering among themselves.

  “Omens?” shouted Julien fiercely, turning on them. “You mention omens and spells?”

  One of them, the bigger boy of perhaps thirteen, nodded vigorously. “The baasa’s daughter was cursed. Someone put a curse on her, and so the spitting cobra waited for her in the rocks.”

  The look on Julien’s face alarmed Darinda. Did she actually see fear of witchcraft?

  “Who is to blame for this?” Julien demanded. “Didn’t any of you attempt to clear this area of rocks and tall grasses?”

  “But Baasa, we—”

  “But nothing, you useless brats! I should have you all flogged for laziness. My granddaughter could have died because of you,” he spat in anger.

  “Those are my Bantu, Monsieur Julien,” came Mornay’s languid voice. He had just walked up with Derwent Brown.

  Darinda noticed that Derwent wore a bandage on his head. His face looked pale, as though he’d been sick, and he seemed thinner. What had happened to him? She had always liked the rusty-headed young man because he showed her honest respect, not the feigned kind she was accustomed to from other men.

  “They are my children, monsieur,” Mornay said in a voice that bespoke trouble. “No one flogs my little ones as long as I am alive.”

  Darinda felt the chilling silence squeeze them in.

  “I’ll handle this, Julien,” Peter said grimly. “Maybe you’d better get Darinda inside. She’s not looking well. That was quite a shock. Arcilla, my dear, will you help your cousin to the large tent?”

  “I don’t need her help, thank you,” Darinda said. She turned to Julien, who stood there stone-faced, glaring at Mornay. “Grandfather?” She laid her hand on his arm, feeling the tension in his muscles. “I want to go inside and change. It’s frightfully hot out here. Help me to my wagon, will you? It’s silly I know, but that scare has made my knees weak.”

  Julien shifted his attention to her, and together they turned toward the tents and coaches.

  As they walked away, Darinda looked over her shoulder and saw Parnell standing by the rocks staring down at the dead cobra, as though mesmerized. A moment later his face turned pale white again, and he dashed behind the rocks to be sick.

  She was feeling sick herself, but now it was over more than the ugly episode with the spitting cobra.

  Arcilla followed Peter into their day tent, which was large enough to make a tolerable living space. There were horsehair mattresses, a long trestle table, and comfortable camp chairs, but she loathed it all just the same. How she longed for the comforts of Rookswood, where her every need was abundantly cared for.

  “This morning I found a spider walking across the rug,” she said, “the biggest one I’ve ever seen in my life. It was all black and fuzzy with double-jointed legs. I screamed, and one of the Bantu boys came and removed it. Oh, Peter, you’re not listening again.”

  “I am, my sweet, but after a week of sweat and dust, the bath holds more charm for me than your saga of a harmless little spider.”

  “Harmless!”

  “I’ve just faced Lobengula and
thousands of impis anxious to spill our blood with their assegais. You won’t mind, will you, if I don’t swoon over your adventure with the spider?”

  His indifference irritated her. He was making light of her concerns. For a moment she felt a pang of guilt. She should have been concerned about the trip to Bulawayo and asked him about it first, but Darinda’s being nearly bitten, then “spat” upon by that cobra, had revived her own frightening experience with the giant spider.

  “You were concerned enough about Darinda and that snake. You didn’t brush her fears aside, as though they were trivial.”

  “They weren’t. But a spider isn’t going to kill you, Arcilla—” He stopped and faced her, looking tired and frustrated. “I’m making a dreadful mess of things. Look, I wasn’t more concerned for Darinda than you, my dear—Oh, let’s forget it, shall we? Where’s that tub of hot water and the soap?” He removed his dusty, smelly jacket and shirt, pulled off his boots and stiff socks, peeled off his trousers, and tossed it all into a corner for the boy to carry off to the boiling pot to be washed.

  “The water isn’t hot,” she said tiredly. “It’s cold. And you may find some slimy things swimming about if you’re not careful.”

  “Anything will do right now—” He stepped into the tub and sprawled out with a sigh, sinking low to his chin.

  She paced before the tub ready to hand him soap, cloth, and towels, but her thoughts were elsewhere. Uncle Julien had said nothing to her about her “indiscretion” back in Capetown. Had he forgotten it? He wouldn’t tell Darinda, would he? Oh, the horror if her cousin heard of it! Darinda was nasty enough to tell Peter. Why did Darinda dislike her so much? Jealousy, no doubt. She had liked Peter before Julien decided he should marry her.

  “Have you talked with Julien about Capetown since he arrived?”

  Peter was scrubbing himself with gusto. “Your uncle remains adamant that you come with me to Fort Salisbury. You knew what it would be like when we discussed it in London. It isn’t as if I’ve sprung a trap on you.”

  She had been fearing he’d mention the incident in the garden. She felt relieved he hadn’t a clue what she was thinking. In fact, she was so relieved that she smiled down at him and splashed him with a bucket of tepid water, laughing as he spurted and choked.

  “The very dignified Peter Bartley,” she teased, “choking on his bath water.”

  He laughed. “Careful, or you’ll find yourself in the tub with me.”

  She backed a safe distance away, still laughing at him. “What happened when you met Lobengula? Tell me, Peter, were they all naked? How tall was he? Some say he is a giant.”

  “You have an odious curiosity, one I won’t gratify. The meeting went as expected. It had its unpleasant, worrisome moments with all his warring impis standing around us. One or two of the indunas wanted to contest him over letting the white man dig for gold. Dr. Jameson convinced Lobengula otherwise. What worries me is whether he’ll keep his bargain. Hand me that other towel.”

  “What if he changes his mind? About building that road, I mean. Would he attack us, do you think?” The security of life at Rookswood seemed a world away.

  She knew when he was doubtful or worried by the way his mouth would shut tightly. “Then there’s a possibility he will,” she said. “Oh, Peter, if only we could go back to—”

  “I’m not one to try to shield you from the truth. Yes, he could easily thwart us once we bring in the Ngwato workers to dig the road. It’s a miracle everything has gone as smoothly as it has, considering the hostilities we’re up against.”

  Her uppermost thought was that they must have enough guards to protect them against any attack.

  “Will you be keeping Captain Retford on?”

  “He is an excellent man, and Rogan agrees. Yes, he is going north with us.”

  “That should suit Darinda. Poor Parnell…I’m furious with the way she’s running my poor deluded brother around like a pet monkey on a leash.”

  “Not a flattering comparison. I wouldn’t say that to Parnell.”

  “I wouldn’t. But she has her eye on Ryan, and she doesn’t fool me in the slightest bit.”

  “Ryan?”

  “Captain Retford,” she corrected quickly.

  “Don’t let him hear you call him by his first name, my dear. It wouldn’t be appropriate, especially since he’s under my charge.”

  “Of course I wouldn’t,” she rushed.

  “Hand me some fresh clothes, will you? I have a meeting with Julien and Dr. Jameson before dinner.”

  “Will you be late again?” she asked as he dressed.

  “I’ll be back as soon as I can. It shouldn’t take long.”

  He reached for her, and she came into his arms. “That’s better,” she taunted. “You smelled as bad as that nasty old mosquito ointment.”

  He held her close and kissed her. “I’m glad you’re here, darling. This is where I want you, with me.”

  “That’s the first time you’ve ever said that.”

  “Nonsense,” he laughed, “I say it all the time.”

  “You just think you do. Peter,” she said seriously, “after Fort Salisbury, will there ever be a time when we go back to London?”

  “There will always be time to return to England. There will be lots of visits to see your family and mine.”

  “I was thinking… If we had a baby, I should loathe having it this far from civilization and capable doctors… I mean, it would be very frightening for me.”

  “There’s Dr. Jameson. And Dr. Jakob van Buren. His mission station, I believe, is somewhere in that area.”

  “It’s not the same as giving birth to our children in England…at Rookswood, for instance, with Aunt Elosia by my side, and my father.”

  He petted her cheek. “You won’t be the first woman to bear children on the African veld, and you won’t be the last. And you have me, dearest. You can count on me being there by your side.”

  She looked deeply into his eyes, pleasant eyes.

  “Will you, Peter? Be there for me?”

  He smiled and planted a kiss on her forehead. “Always, Arcilla.”

  She wondered. And when he had left for the meeting, she stood there in the silence smelling the fragrance of soap. She looked around at the sloppy mess and absently began picking up the wet towels and soiled clothes. Then she dropped them and went to throw open the tent flap. She clapped her hands at the Bantu boy and pointed to the bath area.

  Just then she caught sight of a long centipede and recoiled. They bit, she knew that, because one of the poor children had been bitten earlier and had bawled about it for an hour. She directed the boy’s attention to it so he could flip the creature away before she walked outside for some fresh air.

  It would be a lovely evening with a cooling breeze, but it would never compensate for the evenings at Rookswood. Even the noisome rooks cawing in the trees in Grimston Woods would have been a welcome sound now. She sighed. I wonder what Darinda is doing after that revolting scare? Arcilla looked around apprehensively and hugged herself.

  Darinda had refused tea and asked for strong black coffee. Imagine that Captain Retford speaking to her as he had. She ought to report him to Julien…but they needed every man they could get, especially with marksmanship like that! He had torn the head off the cobra with apparent ease.

  She arose restlessly from the comfortable camp chair and went to the mirror to smooth her hair into place. The meeting over the negotiations at Bulawayo was about to begin, and she wanted to hear what had happened with Lobengula. This was a chance to speak to Parnell, and to show Captain Retford that she hadn’t taken to her bed over the cobra incident. That was how Cousin Arcilla would have reacted, not Darinda Bley, future heiress to gold and diamonds, if she had her way.

  She went to dress, reaching for a brown riding habit—then changed her mind. Instead, she chose a cool blue Victorian lace blouse and a long skirt. She added a crocodile skin belt with a gold buckle. When she appraised herself in the m
irror, she felt quite satisfied. One need not primp by the hour the way Arcilla did to look one’s best. She touched her hair again, bringing a strand down to form a side curl at her cheek, then she turned and left for the large meeting tent. Did Ryan Retford have a girl in Kimberly or Capetown? She could find out easily enough through her connections in Kimberly…

  The meeting was already under way in the dining marquee when Darinda arrived. The canvas sides had been rolled up to admit the late afternoon breeze, and half a dozen men sat at a long trestle table in deep discussion of Bulawayo and Lobengula, the troublesome Ndebele chieftain.

  Darinda slipped in quietly and took a chair near one open side, then glanced at those present. Parnell was there, looking subdued. His gaze had followed her when she entered, and he looked away when their eyes met. He feels badly that he didn’t shoot the cobra. Captain Retford was present, in his military garb. His flinty look took her in, as though he noticed she wore a blouse and skirt for a change. She turned her head away toward her grandfather and then saw Rogan Chantry. Darkly handsome with a narrow mustache, he looked at her evenly, then directly at Parnell. Did he suspect anything about their designs on the map?

  “Doc Jim,” as he was called among friends and allies of Mr. Rhodes, was telling her grandfather about his dealings with Lobengula.

  He was drinking coffee and explaining to Julien that he was leaving with Frank Thompson to report the success to Cecil Rhodes, who had returned to De Beers in Kimberly.

  Darinda noted that her grandfather did not seem surprised that Lobengula had given permission, grudging as it was, for the BSA miners to dig a new road east of Bulawayo to the Zambezi.

  But Doc Jim was quick to point out his skepticism. “Let’s not think too highly of the old warrior, Julien. I know that man. I’ve treated him for gout off and on for months. He’s as bloated as a python. The best I could get out of him was an admission that he’d never refused the pioneers permission to enter the country. He remains suspicious.”