Red Feather Love

by Suzanna Lynne

  The Incwala festivities were gripping the thoughts and emotions of the whole of Swaziland and, for the moment, the horror of the ritual murder was pushed into the background. Not so, however, with the people of the area where the crime had been perpetrated. Last night, both Graham and Dirk had forcefully reminded her of her danger. All day she felt distinctly nervous at the thought that both men were far away.

  When the last tile had been laid, Gillian and her serving woman gazed in admiration at the result of the day's hard labour. The beautiful bathroom, with its plumbing, new gas heater, and outsize wall mirror, was now complete.

  'It's beautiful! Beautiful!' she enthused.

  Madelisa beat her hands together and cried: 'Hau! Hau!' while Gillian went to store the tools.

  Madelisa rinsed the dust from the bath and swept and washed the floor. She lit the pilot light of the gas heater and produced a fresh towel. 'Now you're going to lie in the warm water, Missy Gillian, and get into bed. Madelisa will bring you your supper.'

  Gillian did not need a second invitation, and turned on the hot water tap. Oh, what bliss it was to lie relaxed in the deliciously scented water in this attractive bathroom. She felt the exhaustion ooze from her body and had almost dropped off to sleep when Madelisa knocked at the door. 'Your supper is almost ready, Nkosazana.'

  Tucked into bed, she ate Madelisa's speciality - a delicious cheese souffle and crisp salad with fresh home-made bread and farm butter, touched with honey. She tinkled the little silver bell and Madelisa came to remove the tray.

  'Lock up, Madelisa; you look dead beat. An early night won't do you any harm.'

  Since Graham's return from his cattle-buying expedition, Madelisa had gone back to sleeping in her own room. Tonight she would bring her blankets to the kitchen again. Gillian looked at the tired old face and was filled with compassion for the faithful old soul.

  Ntombi's sudden vociferous barking caught her attention and she sat up listening intently.

  She heard Madelisa's heavy steps return. Gillian looked up questioningly as she entered the room and was shocked to see the misery expressed in the kindly face. Gone was the usual friendly smile and the double chins quivered piteously, the eyes were suspiciously bright.

  'Why, Madelisa, whatever has happened?'

  'Nkosazana!' Madelisa burst out. 'Madelisa's heart is full of tears!'

  'What is it? Tell me quickly.'

  'My son has come to fetch me - my granddaughter is dying of fever. He says I can make her well with my herbs.' The brightness threatened to spill over on to her cheeks.

  'Oh, Madelisa, I'm sorry to hear the bad news! The poor little mite! You must of course go immediately. Maybe you can save her yet.'

  'Nkosazana, I cannot leave you alone tonight - Nkosan Dirk said....'

  'Never you mind what Nkosan Dirk said,' Gillian interrupted. 'Your place is with your family now. I shall be safe. Just lock up securely. What better guard can I have than Ntombi? Besides, I have a gun.'

  After a little more persuasion, Madelisa reluctantly agreed to leave with her son without further delay, taking with her the food and medicines pressed upon her by her young mistress.

  'Lala gahle,' Madelisa wished her good night, and left.

  Gillian read by candlelight for a short while, then unlocked the front door to call in her protectress. She stood on the threshold and whistled loudly. There was no response. Bare-footed, she crossed the flagged stoep and stood on the grass in her thin nightie, whistling and listening under the starlit sky. A faint twinge of uneasiness passed through her:

  'Ntombi!' she called more urgently. 'Ntombi! Ntombi!' Now fear swamped her. In sudden terror she shot back into the house and bolted the door quickly.

  'This is silly of me!' she reprimanded herself. 'The dog has returned to her home, that's all.' She placed Dirk's revolver and torch beside the candle on the table next to her bed, slid under the bedclothes and blew out the flame. Suddenly she had a feeling that there was somebody under her bed. She hung over the side, her golden hair almost sweeping the floor, and swept the torch light from side to side. There was no one.

  To. lull herself to sleep, she began to recite to herself the longest poem she knew by heart: Keats' 'Ode to a Nightingale'.

  'My heart aches and a drowsy numbness pains my sense. . . .' By the time she reached the lines, 'Away! Away! For I would fly with thee ...' she had slipped over the edge of the pit named sleep.

  She awoke with a pounding heart. There was someone in the room. She heard a floorboard creak, and next thing, the person was breathing beside her bed.

  She could see nothing in the pitch black darkness. She tried to scream, but terror paralysed her throat. She had fallen asleep with her arm flung across her pillow, fingers touching the table. Now, silently and stealthily, she groped for the revolver. It was gone. Her fingers contacted the torch. With a superhuman effort she flung herself up, shining the torch in the fevered eyes of a pockmarked face. She found voice and terror fled. 'What do you want!' she cried out angrily.

  The coarse lips twitched in the ray of light. The voice was hoarse with bestiality. 'You!' it hissed.

  She screamed as she struck out and smashed the torch into the brutish face. With a yell of pain he lunged at her. Arms of steel pinned her down. Hot breath burnt her face.

  The sharp sound of splintering glass and a blinding light filled the room. Instantly her attacker released his hold and bolted for the door, as man and dog smashed through the window.

  'Get him, Ntombi!' she heard Dirk shout.

  'No, no!' Gillian shrieked. 'Come back, Ntombi! He'll kill her! He has my gun!'

  She whipped back the blankets and shot towards the door, but muscled arms gripped her and flung her ruthlessly back on to the bed.

  'You stay out of this!' Dirk barked, and rushed with shining torch down the passage.

  Her whole body quaked uncontrollably as she sat in the dark, straining her ears to hear. From the kitchen came vicious snarls, a shot, a crash, a human scream of pain and terror.

  'Dirk! He's been shot!' flashed through her mind, as she flew from the room.

  In the kitchen she saw Dirk straddled across the attacker, who lay with his face against the floor, seemingly senseless.

  Dirk caught sight of Gillian's terror-struck face in the door. 'Quick!' he cried peremptorily. 'A rope - anything! That dishcloth will do!'

  Gillian jumped to band him the cloth, and with it he tied the victim's hands securely behind his back. She darted into the pantry and returned with a strong rope. Dirk trussed up the man's legs, rose and, gripping his victim by the shoulders, dragged the inert body outside. 'You disobeyed me! Now get back to bed!' he instructed Gillian roughly. She obeyed instantly.

  She found matches and with shaking fingers lighted the candle on the bedside table. Almost immediately Dirk returned with a cup in his hands.

  'Wh-what have you done with him?' she whispered through chattering teeth.

  'Locked him in the coal room.'

  'Wh-where's Ntombi?'

  'Guarding the door from outside.' ' Her eyes were reproachful. 'D-did you kill him?'

  'I merely knocked him unconscious. Here, drink this.' He forced the cup roughly into her hands.

  'Wh-what is it?'

  'No matter, drink up!' His voice was insistent.

  A spark of her old spirit returned. 'I refuse, unless you tell me what it is.' She quailed at the threat in his dark eyes.

  'I'm sick of your implied accusations,' he snarled.

  'What accusations?'

  'I slept with Eve, did I? I murdered your attacker and now I'm trying to play about with your drink.'

  'I never said....'

  'Drink it!' he thundered.

  She took a sip, eyes fixed on the liquid. 'It's ... it's sugar water,' she said, tremulously. 'Daddy's old- fashioned remedy against shock.' Her lashes lifted from the rim of the cup and she looked into his eyes. He saw that hers were brimming , over with tears. 'It's s ... sugar w-water,' she r
epeated plaintively, her lips quivering. 'Oh-h, Daddy!' she wailed, suddenly flinging herself against the pillows.

  Deftly Dirk rescued the cup and set it down. She clutched and strained at the copper bars at the head of the bed, while hysterical sobs were torn from her body. Dirk sat down next to her, gently released the clinging fingers and held her closely in his arms, but she sobbed all the more.

  His comforting hand stroked her hair as he whispered soothingly in her ear. Yet still the paroxysm increased. Unexpectedly he held her away from him and struck her smartly and painfully on each cheek.

  'Oh-h-h!' she cried, shocked out of grief into anger, but instantly her sobbing ceased. She stared at him, wide-eyed with furious disbelief. 'You - you hit me! You hit me! You devil! Oh-h!'

  He rose and towered over her. 'Come to your senses!' he commanded. He watched her grimly as she fought to regain control over herself. Then he pulled a clean white handkerchief from the pocket of his grey slacks and offered it to her.

  Gillian dabbed her eyes and blew her nose softly. 'I'm all right now,' she whispered, pushing the handkerchief under her pillow. A little frown puckered between her brows, then she said apologetically: 'I get this way sometimes. I did when Daddy died.'

  'Shock,' he said.

  'The Swazi - what will you do with him?' she asked.

  'As soon as you're okay, I'll telephone the police to come and get him.'

  'I'm okay now.'

  'Well, drink the sugar water. All of it.'

  Quickly she emptied the cup he handed her and lay back against the pillows, drawing the covers shyly to her chin. He bent over her and tucked her in. She saw that his eyes were gentle. Then he went to the old- fashioned telephone against the passage wall and summoned the police.

  As he hung up the receiver, he heard her call from the room. He stood at the door, looking at her. 'What is it ?' he asked crisply.

  'The beds and chaises-longues are all stacked in the barn.'

  'And so ?' he quizzed her.

  'There's nowhere for you to sleep till the police come, and you look so tired.'

  Even in the dim candlelight she caught the gleam of mockery in his eyes and felt the hot colour flush her cheeks under his gaze.

  'Is the rescued damsel surrendering her honour to her brave protector? In simple words, Gillian, are you inviting me to share your bed ?'

  Gillian blanched, but she stuck to her guns. 'I am,' she said coldly, 'but not in the sense you mean it.'

  'In what sense, then ?'

  'I thought, with you and me hating each other as we do...'

  He quirked an eyebrow. 'Go on.'

  'Well, you look bushed. It could be hours before the police come. It's safe for you to stretch yourself out at the foot of my bed, that's all.'

  'Now this is what I call a sensible offer. Thanks, I accept; but I'll be more comfortable beside you than at your feet, both literally and figuratively.'

  She sat up, startled, clutching the covers to her. He looked at her with a bitter smile.

  'Yet another implied but false accusation: seducer of young girls,' he drawled. 'However, you don't need to worry - we'll make assurance doubly sure.' With that, he yanked the king-size bolster roughly from behind her back and smacked it down, lengthwise, along the middle of the bed. 'Our chaperone,' he laughed ironically, flinging himself face down at the extreme opposite side of the roomy fourposter.

  Gillian looked at his dark head, tousled from the fracas, and said uncertainly: 'Shall I blow out the candle ?' He did not answer. She extinguished the flame and snuffed the glowing wick between thumb and forefinger. Then she crept quietly under the bedclothes.

  Silence settled on the room. She lay staring into the darkness.

  'Dirk?' she whispered after a while.

  'Uh-huh?'

  'I thought you left with Graham. How come you were here when I needed you?'

  His voice sounded muffled as though he were too exhausted to lift his mouth from the pillow. 'The police warned me at the Spa. They suspected this tyke of the murder.'

  'Were you keeping watch outside?'

  'Ntombi and I, yes, behind the hedge.'

  'Was she with you when I whistled?'

  'Yes, but I held her back. We moved on to the stoep when your light went out.'

  'This felon - how did he get in?'

  'He must have been in the house when you locked up.'

  There was another silence.

  'Thanks for saving me,' she said softly.

  'Let's sleep now,' his voice was drowsy.

  'Good night, Dirk.'

  'G'night.'

  CHAPTER SIX

  During the night, Gillian was aroused by Ntombi's loud barking. She heard the bed creak as Dirk rose in the darkness. He tiptoed out, thinking she was still asleep.

  'Dirk?'

  'Go to sleep.'

  'Is it the police?'

  'Yes, go to sleep.'

  Secure in the knowledge that he would handle everything, she turned round and fell asleep almost immediately.

  When she awoke next morning, Dirk had returned to his ranch. She wondered what she would do with her day. With the workmen away at Lobamba, the Queen Mother's capital, there was no need to cook, nor work to be overseen. Graham could not be expected back for a day or two. She had time on her hands. She argued that, with the murderer in prison, and the Swazi nation gathered at Lobamba, there was no reason why she could not go on an exploratory hike.

  Dressed in copper-coloured jeans and a white polo- neck sweater, she donned the old sun-hat to protect her skin and, whistling to Ntombi, set out along the dirt track leading away from Mbabane — a road as yet new to her.

  After stepping it out briskly for about two miles, with Ntombi trotting easily at her side, she came upon an impressive stone archway, giving access to an avenue of colossal old flame trees. In the distance, nestling against a hill, she could discern, in amongst trees, the turrets and slate roof of what seemed a palatial home. She guessed that this must be Dirk's 'castle', and was filled with curiosity to see it at closer range.

  Before she could stop Ntombi, the dog dashed through the entrance, barking jubilantly, and raced with flattened ears towards the mansion, deaf to her calls and whistles. Here was an excuse to follow and reconnoitre, but pride held Gillian back, and she continued her way alone. She kept rigorously to the public road, determined not to be caught trespassing on Dirk's territory a second time.

  She passed neatly built wooden corrals, housing magnificent thoroughbred Brahmin cows and calves, and stopped to admire a tremendous dam with well- constructed irrigation furrows leading from it. One could not help being struck by the many proofs of excellent husbandry. She was impressed by the leviathan tractors housed in a stone-built shed.

  A strong wind against her back helped her up a sudden steep rise. At the top she stopped to regain her breath, and stood entranced at the sight of the bright green sea of waving sugarcane that stretched before her to the very horizon. While she gazed, the fields changed to a duller green, as a dark cloud eclipsed the sun.

  So engrossed had she been by all she had seen that only now did she notice the thick dark clouds overcasting the sky. A sudden loud clap of thunder startled her into the realization that a storm was imminent. She promptly turned round and began swiftly to retrace her steps downhill, leaning against the increasingly strong wind. A sudden squall swept away her hat and a few seconds later the heavens opened and rain came down in a torrent, lashing at her and drenching her to the skin. Blinded by the cruel onslaught, she fought her way homewards against the tearing wind.

  Madelisa had told her that during the Incwala ceremony, the king, the Ngwenyama or Lion, and his queen mother, the Indlovukati or she-elephant performed rain-making rituals to increase the fertility of the soil and bring more food for the nation, and now, drenched in that rain, she marvelled at the strangeness of it all.

  The road was already a river of rushing water and, as she battled on, Gillian began to feel afraid. Buffet
ed by wind and rain, and slipping and staggering through the muddy slush, her fear grew to a state of near panic. The distant roar of a motor-cycle caught her ear. As it approached, she struggled to the side of the track, and clung dripping to the wire fence for support. To her immense relief the cycle did not pass, but stopped beside her. Through the sheet of rain she recognized Dirk in black oilskin and glimmering gumboots. 'Of all the damn fool things!' he shouted at her. 'Come here!'

  She squelched through the mud towards him. From under her rain-soaked lashes she caught the fierce glint in his eye.

  'I feel like putting you across my knee!' he roared against the noise of the storm. 'Do you think I have nothing else to do with my time but rescue you daily?'

  'You just try putting me across your knee - just try it!' she shrieked back at him in fury.

  'I've a good mind to let you stew in your own juice for a change.'

  'I'm sure to worry! Who asked you to help me anyway?'

  'Madelisa has returned home and told me. When Ntombi turned up, I phoned your house. You've no right to cause the poor soul such worry.'

  'You're lying! She can't be back so soon.'

  'Well, she rushed back as she was worried about you being alone.'

  Gillian took a big breath, then let out all the voice she could muster. 'You go to the devil!' she yelled, and broke into a stumbling trot away from him.

  A hand of steel gripped her arm, and Dirk pulled her roughly on to the saddle in front of him, while he shifted back on to the pillion.

  'Let me go!' Gillian shouted, straggling to free herself. 'You big bully! Let me go!'

  He shook her so that her teeth rattled. 'You listen to me, you immature baby, or else!' There was no mistaking the threat in his voice.

  Gillian glanced sideways at his face and there she saw such fierceness, such cruelty almost, that further insubordination was unthinkable. She sat quiet as a lamb, blowing rain from her lips, while he opened the roomy oilskin and, wrapping the ample front panels around her, buttoned her up against him.

  With the rain beating down they churned through the mud, the tyres sending out spurts of dirty water to left and right. She was acutely aware of the arms around her, and the warm masculine body against her wet back. She tensed her back, holding herself rigid and away from Dirk, but each jolt sent her back against his hard chest.