by M. M. Kaye
The night that followed had been a nerve-racking one, not only for the foreigners beseiged in the consulates, but for all Zanzibar. More than a dozen shops and houses in the city had been broken into and looted, and several country mansions of well-to-do sheikhs and noblemen had been attacked, their slaves kidnapped and their valuables stolen.
With the morning a further deputation called upon the Sultan to discuss what sum would be considered adequate to buy off the pirates, and by the late afternoon it had been raised: though whether it ever reached Omar-bin-Omar and the masters of the dhows, or stayed to swell the Sultan’s coffers, remained in doubt, since there was very little slackening of tension in the succeeding hours, and after another uneasy night dawn found the city still terrorized by the invaders. But help was at last at hand, for as the day broke greyly in a sky full of clouds, it brought with it Her Majesty’s steam-sloop Daffodil; and half an hour later Lieutenant Daniel Larrimore and a file of armed bluejackets were marching through the streets, while the shouting men who had been besieging die consulates melted away down the lanes and side-alleys of the city and fell silent.
Dan had gone straight to the British Consulate, where he had found Colonel Edwards breakfasting finally on an orange and a cup of black coffee (it had been impossible to obtain eggs or fresh food during the past two days) and had received a warm welcome. The Colonel had as yet received no information as to how the other consulates had fared, and giving orders that the Daffodil’s guns were to be trained on the anchored fleet of dhows, he set off, accompanied by the Lieutenant, to see if any of his colleagues were in need of assistance.
Every Arab on the coast knew Lieutenant Larrimore and the Daffodil, and the news of their arrival spread through the city with the speed of a cloud shadow on a windy day, so that by the time Colonel Edwards and his escort reached Mr Hollis’s house the last of the rioters were vanishing in the direction of the bazaars or the harbour, and the few who remained stood back sullenly and made no attempt to bar their way.
The servants were still cowering in the back of the house, and it was Mr Hollis himself who admitted them. He looked as though he had aged ten years in two days and even Colonel Edwards was startled at his appearance, while Dan, whose own face had been grim with anxiety, felt his heart jerk and stop with the sudden presage of calamity, and said hoarsely: “Is she all right?”
“She hasn’t come back,” said the Consul, his voice as hoarse as Dan’s, but flat from exhaustion: “We tried every way to get out and get word to you, but they wouldn’t let us through. It’s been two days and we’ve heard nothing.”
“God!” said Dan in a harsh whisper, “Cressy—!” He reached out and gripped the Consul’s shoulders: “Where is she? When did she go?…where…”
He heard a sound of light running footsteps on the stairs and a choking little cry, and looked up to see Cressy above him on the staircase.
They stared at each other for a frozen, incredulous moment, and as he thrust the Consul away from him, Cressy broke into a stumbling run and he leapt forward and caught her in his arms.
“Dan…Dan…Oh, Dan!” sobbed Cressy, and could say no more because he was kissing her: holding her so tightly that she could barely breathe, and murmuring incoherent and passionate endearments in total disregard of an audience composed of her father. Colonel Edwards, several apprehensive house-servants and two poker-faced able seamen from his escort who had followed him into the hall.
It was Clayton who put an end to the affecting scene. Clayton, as white-faced, haggard and exhausted as his stepfather, who had heard the voices in the hall and come down from the room where his mother lay weeping hysterically and alternately blaming herself for ever having invited her niece out to Zanzibar, and announcing that if no one else had the courage to fight their way through that howling mob of pirates and rescue poor Hero, she would go herself and why wasn’t anyone doing anything?
Clayton had administered another dose of hartshorn to his afflicted parent and come downstairs to find the hall full of Englishmen, and his sister being passionately embraced by a wild-eyed young man in naval uniform.
There was something in that sight—in the way that they clung to each other as though nothing and no one else in the world mattered any more—that put the last finishing touch to his rage and despair, and he strode forward and wrenched his sister away: “What in hellfire do you mean by making such an exhibition of yourself?” stormed Clayton. “You ought to be looking after mother! Get on up to her room!”
He turned to glare at the Lieutenant, and said furiously: “As for you, you certainly took your time getting here, and now that you’ve finally done so, it seems all you can do is stand around making a vulgar spectacle of my sister! Why don’t you go after that bastard of a slaver and make yourself useful for once? Do you realize that he’s had my future wife in his filthy hands for over two days, and we haven’t been able to send so much as a message out of this house or find out what’s happened to her, or—or—”
His stepfather said sharply: “That’s enough, Clay! I guess we all know how you feel and we can make allowances for you. But the rest of us feel just about as badly as you do, and shouting insults isn’t going to help any.’ He looked at Dan Larrimore, who had released Cressy but was still holding one of her hands tightly, and said: “You must forgive my step-son. Lieutenant, he is not himself. We couldn’t get the news to you, so I guess you haven’t heard that my niece was abducted two days ago by that man Frost and a gang of his cut-throats.”
He told them the story as briefly as he could, and said in conclusion: “I’ve no doubt that you’ll find, too, that he was behind the blockading of this house and laid on the whole thing to make sure that we couldn’t give the alarm.”
Dan did not say anything, but watching his face Cressy shivered and tightened her grip on his hand, for there was something in it that she had seen in Clayton’s for the last two days: the desire to kill. Only it was worse than Clay’s, because it did not hold any of the blind fury of rage or the frenzied desire for revenge that was staring from Clay’s hot eyes, but was a cold thing and therefore doubly frightening.
Colonel Edwards said in his dry, clipped voice: “I am afraid you may be right, for it seems too pat to have occurred by chance. Unless, of course, he realized what was brewing and took advantage of it. But even if you had been able to send word to us no one could have done anything to assist you, because we have all been besieged. However, fortunately Larrimore’s arrival has put an end to that, and I think we can safely promise you that Miss Hollis will be returned to you within a few hours.”
“And what about him?” demanded Clay violently. “What about Frost? I suppose you’ll let him off with a warning as usual? It’s all your goddamned fault for not shooting the skunk or running him out of here years ago! You could have done it—he’s a British subject. But oh no! you wouldn’t lift a finger to stop him. Well, you’re sure not going to let him get away with this. He’s going to pay for this if I have to shoot him down myself!”
His voice cracked with rage, and his stepfather said quietly but imperatively: “I said, that’s enough, Clay.”
Colonel Edwards had listened without interruption to this tirade, and observing his colleague’s step-son with a coldly speculative eye he recalled Feruz All’s story concerning the death of Frost’s Arab mistress, and several things that Frost himself had said in the course of that brief, abortive interview that had taken place in his own office…”
So it was young Mayo who had been responsible for that! And Frost was exacting the ancient and savage reprisal of “An eye for an eye and a tooth for a tooth’. There could be no other possible reason for the perpetration of such a senseless and ignoble act, since Frost was not a man to run his head into a noose for the sake of a temporary lust for any woman. Particularly such a woman as Miss Hero Hollis, who in the Colonel’s opinion was far too tall, forthright and unfeminine to qualify as a ‘femme fatale.’
He held no brief for the brutal
repayment that had been exacted at the expense of an innocent victim, even though he could not regard the two cases as comparable, for Mayo could perhaps be forgiven for imagining that any strumpet from The Dolphins’ House was fair game. But as things had turned out there was obviously something to be said for the other side, and if Frost had taken a whip or his fists to the young man, or even had him set upon and beaten up by his crew, the Colonel would not have been disposed to blame him. It was the weapon that he had chosen that was wholly inexcusable, and no offence could justify such a despicable retaliation.
Colonel Edwards looked Mr Hollis’s handsome step-son up and down with cold disapproval, and said frigidly: “You will not be put to the trouble of taking the law into your own hands, Mr Mayo. I have already had occasion to warn Frost that if there were any further anti-European demonstrations in the city I should hold him responsible, and see that he hanged for it without trial. I intend to keep my word.”
He turned on his heel, and Clayton started forward and said: “Wait! I’m coming with you.”
The Colonel stopped. “By all means, if you wish: though you understand that we shall not be able to proceed directly to the assistance of Miss Hollis, for though I can fully appreciate your anxiety, there is a pressing and even more important matter that must be dealt with first.”
“God in glory! what can be more important than getting her out of the hands of that blackguard? Are you seriously telling me that you aim to go parading around the town and making speeches at a time like this?—when every minute may count?”
“I am very much afraid,” said Colonel Edwards in an arctic voice, “that at this late date a few more minutes—or a few more hours for that matter—are not likely to make much difference to Miss Hollis. But since they may make a great difference to the inhabitants of this town, my first duty is to them. I intend sending Lieutenant Larrimore to issue an ultimatum to the masters of the dhows that they have until this evening in which to collect their crews and quit the Island. And as soon as that is understood and accepted, he will take a contingent of his men, and as many Baluchis as can be spared from other duties, to release Miss Hollis and arrest Frost If this seems dilatory and callous to you I can only say that I am sorry, but the latter is a personal matter and the former a public duty. If you care to be at my Consulate in an hour’s time you may accompany us to Frost’s house.”
“Thank you for nothing!” blazed Clayton. “I’m going there right now, and if you won’t go with me I reckon there are plenty who will! I can get me half a dozen white men who will be only too glad to. Hell! d’you think I’d wait another second?”
“In your place I expect I should feel the same. But I hope you will reconsider, because half a dozen men will be able to do little against a dozen or more who are barricaded into a house that was built to withstand siege. You would not do any good and possibly a deal of harm, and Miss Hollis’s position would seem to be quite bad enough without the added indignity of knowing that every European in the Island has been made aware of it, and can gossip and speculate over what has occurred. For her sake, the fewer people who know of this the better, and if we keep it among ourselves we may be able to arrange that others do not get to hear of it. All that need be known is that Larrimore and the men from the Daffodil have arrested Frost for his share in these disturbances. You would be well advised to wait until you can accompany us.”
“I’m with you,” agreed Nathaniel Hollis without giving his step-son time to reply. “There is no call for us to make bad worse.”
“Exactly. It is perhaps fortunate that every other European in the place is far too alarmed and anxious on their own account to spare much interest at this moment for the affairs of others. And long before they are free to do so Miss Hollis will be back, and anything that gets out later may be dismissed as a wild rumour. I will see you later then, Mr Mayo.”
The Colonel nodded to Mr Hollis and went out into the sunlight, and Dan jerked Cressy back into his arms, kissed her with deliberation, released her, and followed him.
Two hours later a strong force of bluejackets and Baluchis, under the command of Lieutenant Larrimore and accompanied by Colonel Edwards and Mr Clayton Mayo, sealed off both ends of a quiet street in which a forgotten Portuguese graveyard made a small green oasis among the frowning Arab houses. But The Dolphins’ House was empty except for a handful of servants and a small child who stamped her foot at the invaders, and when they would not go away, cried for her mother and would not be comforted.
The servants professed ignorance as to the whereabouts of the master of the house, and said that neither he nor any member of the Virago’s crew had been near the house for the past three days, so they presumed that the schooner had sailed for Mombasa or the Gulf The Sidi was not in the habit of discussing his affairs with them, and they were ignorant of his movements.
Lieutenant Larrimore had left a guard on the house and returned to the harbour, where he was informed that the Virago had slipped her moorings over two days ago and had been seen making for the open sea, heading southward. But no one could say where she had gone.
It had been Ralub and not Rory who had carried Hero across his saddlebow; held in an unbreakable grip and half stifled by the heavy folds of a horse-blanket that had prevented her from struggling as violently as she would otherwise have done, since the greater part of her energies had of necessity been concentrated on fighting for every breath.
She had known where they were bound for as soon as she had heard the sound of waves. And in the next moment she had been slung over someone’s shoulder like a bale of carpets, and when at last she was set on her feet and able to free herself from the smothering blanket, she was once again aboard the Virago. Though this time not in the Captain’s cabin, but locked in the dark little privy where the skylight was far too small to allow anything larger than a monkey to escape.
She had been there for hours; knowing that the schooner had put to sea, but with no idea where she was being taken, or why. She could only imagine that Rory Frost had taken leave of his senses and was belatedly attempting a trick that he had been unable to use on that earlier occasion, and holding her for ransom. Anything else did not cross her mind, and since it did not occur to her that any attack might be made on her virtue, she was incensed to find that a plate of food, a carafe of wine and a mug had been placed on the floor, which suggested that her stay in that cramped and undignified retreat was likely to be a long one.
She had not touched the food, and as there had been only one place to sit on, she had sat on it for the greater part of that day; getting angrier with every slow-passing hour, and rehearsing a variety of cutting things that she intended to say to Captain Rory Frost at the first opportunity.
The opportunity, however, had not presented itself until the late evening; and by that time she was no longer on the Virago, but a prisoner in The House of Shade.
Hero had heard the schooner drop anchor and had wondered where they could be. It seemed to her that they had been running before the wind all day and would by this time have reached the coast of Africa, and it was only later that she realized they must have headed away from the Island to give the impression that they were making for somewhere far to the southward, and once out of sight of land, circled back again to run in on Kivulimi from the north.
The splash and rattle of the anchor had been followed a few minutes later by the sound of footsteps crossing the cabin, and then the key clicked in the lock and Hero drew herself up to her full height and swept out haughtily. But the blistering words on her tongue remained unspoken, for it was Jumah who had released her, and not the Virago’s Captain.
“Missie going on shore now,” said Jumah, airing his English and beaming as happily as though he brought good news and there was nothing untoward in the present situation.
The sun was level with the horizon and the clouds that had reappeared in the afternoon were dispersing again in a glory of gold and rose and apricot. The garden of The House of Shade was mel
odious with birds piping and twittering as they prepared to settle down for the night, and the scent of flowers was as heavy as incense on the evening air. But Hero had no eyes for the beauty of the scene and no attention to spare for such things as birds and flowers. She could see no sign of either Captain Frost or Mr Potter, and did not know that for the first time in all the years that they had been together, Mr Potter had quarrelled seriously with his Captain.
“I don’t ‘old with it!” Batty had said. “If you wants to whale the living daylights out of that fornicatin’ scum, it’ll be a pleasure to give you an ‘elpin’ “and. But what ‘e done ain’t nowise Miss ‘Ero’s fault, and I don’t ‘old with taking it out on ‘er for what ‘er young man does. I ain’t no plaster saint, as well you knows; but I ain’t such a crawlin’ low-down son-of-a-bitch as that!”
Rory had looked at him for a long moment and then shrugged and turned away, and Batty, who had hoped to provoke him into losing his temper, had stumped down below, cursing all women, and relieved his feelings by quarrelling instead with the Virago’s cook.
If only, thought Batty, the Captain would work off his feelings in a rousing fist-fight or get roaring drunk, he might lose that tight, frozen look he had worn ever since he had heard the news of Zorah’s death, and recover his sense of proportion. But he had refused to be provoked, and though for the past week he had been drinking steadily and to excess, alcohol seemed to have lost the power to arouse any emotion in him save an intensification of that cold rage.
“Blubber-‘eaded, bloody-minded, Friday-faced bung-nipper!” muttered Batty, refraining from worse words for fear that Hero might hear them, and keeping below decks and out of sight in order to avoid having to meet her eyes.