by M. M. Kaye
“I don’t believe it. They couldn’t do that now. Not after all that’s happened.”
“Why not? Old Edwards is a mighty stubborn man, and he’s got a set of hard and fast ideas on the subject of justice. I guess he isn’t going to pass them up just because Rory Frost let you use his house to keep a parcel of starving kids in. It’ud take a heap more than that to make him go back on his word!—you’ve seen enough of him to know that.”
“Yes,” said Hero slowly. “I—I hadn’t thought about it. It all seems so long ago. I’d forgotten…”
She thought of it now, and realized that Clay was right. The Colonel might be disposed to take a less rigidly censorious view of Rory Frost while the cholera raged and there were other and more immediately urgent matters to occupy his attention. But he was, as Clay had said, a stubborn man, and now that the epidemic was over he would not allow his personal feelings to interfere in any way with what he considered to be a straightforward question of justice. He had already passed judgement on Rory and he would not go back on that.
Clay said: I’m sorry, Hero. But it won’t last. Once you’re away from here you’ll find you’ll soon forget about him. You’ll get over it.”
“I-guess so.”
“What do you plan to do?”
“I don’t know, Clay. Go back to Boston I suppose—and forget all about it!” Hero’s voice was suddenly bitter.” I shall go to Ladies’ Luncheons and Musical Evenings, and play whist and take a stall at the Church Bazaar, and behave myself. And forget about…about the sun and the rain and the salt water, and the ‘men whose heads do grow beneath their shoulders—’”
“What’s that?” asked Clay, looking puzzled. “What men are you talking about?”
“Nothing: just something that Papa once said to me when I was a little girl.”
“Oh, I see,” said Clay, who did not. “Then you’ll be coming back with us on the Norah Crayne?”
“I suppose so, if Uncle Nat doesn’t mind.”
“Mind? Why should he mind? He’ll be delighted. He’s waiting to see you, but he let me see you first.”
“I’m glad. I was afraid he meant it; about never speaking to me again. I couldn’t have borne that.”
“He was blazing angry with you for going off with Frost after what had happened. But he knows what you did during the epidemic, and he’s real proud of you. He’s waiting out on the terrace. I’ll send him in to you.”
Uncle Nat had greeted her kindly enough, but his manner was distrait and he was looking old and worn and dispirited. The tragedy of the cholera epidemic had shaken him badly, and now there was this news that his only child was already married and gone to a strange country. Hero’s behaviour was still a sore subject and one that he had no wish to discuss, and he confined himself to remarking that he guessed there were faults on both sides and least said soonest mended. He was, he said, sorry to hear that she had decided not to marry Clayton, but reckoned that in the circumstances she was probably right. They had both been through too much that they would not be able to forget, and maybe they would be happier apart. Hero must come back to the Consulate as soon as possible, and he hoped she would make arrangements to do so, because George Edwards, who had told him of the excellent work she had done during the epidemic, had also said that it was now virtually ended and there was no longer any reason why she should not return home.
“Let’s you and me try and forget what’s past and make a fresh start,” said Uncle Nat.
He kissed Hero’s cheek, and murmuring something about files, returned to his office and did not see her leave. Two of the Consular servants escorted her back to The Dolphins’ House, because she had refused to let Clay do so. Not that she thought there would be any further scenes if he should encounter Rory Frost, but it seemed better not to risk it. There was, after all, nothing left to be said, and no profit to be derived from vain repetitions and the repaying of violence with violence.
She walked in under die carved dolphins and past the beaming Mustapha Ali and thought: This may be the last time. Because five words of Clayton’s had demolished the wall of pretence and evasion that she had so carefully constructed in order to hide from herself the fact that she had not been staying on for the sake of the remaining children, nor because Uncle Nat did not want her back and she was unwilling to impose on the kindness of Olivia or Thérèse or Millicent Kealey; nor for any of the other reasons that she had used as an excuse for not leaving The Dolphins’ House. But simply and solely because of Rory.
There was good in Rory as well as bad: she knew that now. Yet neither the good nor the evil counted any longer, and it was this that was terrible to her. It frightened and humiliated her to find that a physical attraction (it could not be more than that!) was strong enough to make her hunger for the mere sight of a man whose code and conduct and way of life was detestable to her. ‘Adventurer, black sheep, blackguard’—a slave trader I It reduced her in her own estimation to the level of an animal, but though she could feel bitterly ashamed of it, she could not alter it; for he had awakened something in her that she had not known she possessed, and now it possessed her. It was like a virus in her blood—a fire and a raging thirst She could not hear his voice without remembering it murmuring endearments, or look at his hands or his mouth without recalling the caressing touch of them: the slow delight of his kisses. ‘One of Frost’s women’…
There was only one thing she could do, and that was to go away quickly; and now that Uncle Nat had asked her to return to the Consulate there was no longer any excuse for not doing so. ‘If thy eye offend thee, pluck it out’…But this was not just an eye. It was not so simple as that A heart would be harder to pluck out One could live without an eye: but without a heart—?
I must leave today, thought Hero. I must leave at once…
She went slowly up the winding stone stairways and along the verandahs that were empty now and echoed softly to the sound of her footsteps, and thought how beautiful the house was, and how familiar it had become. As familiar as Hollis Hill…
A door ahead of her opened and Batty Potter came out of a room at the turn of the verandah, his arms full of assorted garments and followed by Jumah, who was staggering under the weight of a large sea-chest Hero stopped and enquired what they were doing.
“Packing,” said Batty dourly. “‘Aven’t you ‘card? We’re off. The Captain’s been give notice to quit.”
“To quit? You mean he’s—you’re going? But why? When? Where are you going, Batty?”
“‘Ome. So ‘e says, and ‘e wouldn’t say it if ‘e didn’t mean it.”
“But I thought…Batty, what’s happened? I don’t understand—”
“S’easy enough. There’s a new ship in with another barrel of mail that she picks up at the Cape, and the Colonel ‘e gets word as ‘is replacement is arriving in tuthree days, and ‘oos a’bringing ‘im but the Cormorant, And the Cormorant’s orders is to pick up Captain Rory and take ‘im back to stand trial.”
“No! No, Batty I They mustn’t—they can’t—” Hero’s voice was a whisper and she sat down with some suddenness on the sea-chest that Jumah had got tired of carrying. Knowing that they could, and feeling empty and helpless.
“Can’t they!” said Batty and expectorated viciously. “No knowing what them pig-‘eaded barstids can’t get up to! But the Colonel ‘e comes round ‘ere ‘arf an hour back and tips Captain Rory the wink to light out quick; and stay out. Because if so be ‘e ain’t ‘ere when the Cormorant puts in, then there ain’t nothing they can do. And nothing more won’t be said neither; ‘e gives ‘im ‘is word on that So they shake ‘ands like gents, and there y’are.”
“You mean he’s—the Colonel is going to let him get away? But why, Batty? I thought…It doesn’t matter. Are you going with him?”
“‘Oo else? Yes, it’s goodbye t’Zanzibar for Batty Potter. I’ll miss the old place. But after what we seen ‘ere lately I can’t say as I’ll be so sorry to leave. Not with Amrah gone. Though it�
��s going to be ‘ard to leave the ‘Ajji and the rest of ‘em—crool ‘ard. Ah well, that’s life, miss. ‘Ere today and gone tomorrow!’ You’ll be going ‘ome yourself, I fancy. If you wouldn’t mind gettin’ up off that ditty box, Jumah and me’ll be getting these ‘ere duds stowed. Thank you, miss.”
He stumped off down the verandah and Hero went slowly to her room and found Olivia there, also engaged in packing.
“Oh, there you are. Hero. Is this yours, or is it one Thérèse left behind? No, it’s Milly’s—I remember I borrowed it We have to leave, dear. George had another letter from the Cape this morning, and it seems that the Cormorant—”
“Yes,” said Hero. “I know. Batty told me.’ She sat down numbly on the bed and stared at Olivia, making no attempt to help her: “He says they are going to leave before the Cormorant gets here. That Colonel Edwards told them to go and that nothing would be…I don’t understand, Livvy. Why is George doing this?”
“Well it was really something that the Sultan said. Of course George says it is not an argument that would carry any weight in a court of law, but he thinks that there is enough on the credit side to make it balance—because he’s been going over Dan’s records and the official returns and things like that, and he says it adds up to quite an impressive total. In lives, I mean.”
“What lives? I don’t Oh, you mean the children?”
“Well, I didn’t, but now I come to think of it I suppose they would count too. No, George meant the slaves.”
“What slaves? What are you talking about, Olivia?”
“Captain Frost, of course. George said that he had no intention of going back on his word and meant to see that Rory Frost was taken away on the Cormorant—for of course he’d still have been here, because it seems that he once gave his word to George that he wouldn’t escape, and you know what men are. Too ridiculous! But then the other day the Sultan said something rather odd; about other slavers doing better once he’s gone even if the Navy didn’t, and when George asked him what he meant, he told him the whole story, and that’s how George found out.”
“Found out what?”
“That it was Rory Frost who was responsible. George says that a great many of the really bad slave ships that the Daffodil caught—the ones George calls ‘Hell ships’—were only caught because someone told on them. Where they were sailing from, and when, and things like that—so that Dan would know where to wait for them and be there at the right time and everything. So you see…”
“You mean—you mean that Rory told Dan?”
“Goodness, no! He only saw to it that he knew. Dan hadn’t any idea who was behind it, and I don’t think Captain Frost was at all pleased at being found out. In fact he was positively rude! He pretended not to know what George was talking about when he asked him straight out why he’d done it, but George had questioned Ralub and Mr Potter too, and they’d told the same story as Majid, so in the end he said any fool ought to know the answer to that: it was a plain matter of business, since it got rid of his rivals and improved his own prices. George became excessively cross and told him not to talk fustian, so then he laughed and said he had to admit it was only craven superstition. You don’t happen to know where I put my straw bonnet, do you Hero? The one with the bunches of daisies on it?”
“No, I don’t. What did he mean by ‘craven superstition’?”
“I quite thought I’d put it—Yes, here it is! Oh, he said he ‘made it a practice to keep something on the credit side of the ledger, so that he’d have a sop to throw to his conscience in the unlikely event of its ever giving him any trouble’; and besides, he didn’t like pointless brutality or brutal fools. Something like that. But George says that whatever his reasons were, the fact remains that he must have been responsible for freeing at least forty or fifty negroes—and probably far more!—for every one he sold himself, so that the balance is really in his favour. Which one can quite see—though Captain Frost said there was a flaw in that logic that was wide enough to sail the Great Eastern through. I can’t think what he meant, but George said he was well aware of it and he still felt justified in doing his own arithmetic. And he says he can make it all right with the authorities, which I own is a great relief. I could not have borne to think that it was George who had done it—after all that has happened. Had him hanged, I mean—if he mas hanged. And on our honeymoon, too! Well, I mean, a person one has come to like and have confidence in…It would have been too dreadful.”
“So—they are going,” said Hero numbly.
“Yes. I suppose they’ll hate leaving this house; and Zanzibar. Though I should think that the others will all be able to come back one day: his crew, I mean. But George says that Rory Frost will have to keep away and that he’ll be all right as long as he does, and that he’s really very lucky. They’re going to leave on the Virago tomorrow morning, so I said that you and I would stay here tonight and help with the packing. Men are never any good at it: they just throw things in and sit on the lid. And as they won’t be coming back, or not for years, there will be a great deal to do. It’s a pity they haven’t got a little more time, but George says that if the Cormorant…Here’s another of Milly’s petticoats! We’d better make a separate parcel. Will you be going back to your uncle’s house now?”
She had to repeat the question twice, for Hero did not seem to have heard it.
“What? Oh—oh, yes. He says I may go back whenever I wish.”
“Then you’ve made it up! Oh, Hero darling I’m so glad for you. And what about Clayton? You are going to marry him after all?”
“No. We decided that it would be better not to. I think he was relieved. I guess I’m not really his kind of woman, and he—he isn’t my kind of man.”
“Why not? I should have thought…Well, perhaps not No, I see what you mean.”
Olivia sighed, frowned, and presently said hopefully: “Oh well, you are sure to find the right one some day. Like I have.”
Rory, having visited Majid, had been down to the harbour, and returning some hours later to The Dolphins’ House he found Hero in the long upper room, kneeling on the floor to help Ifabi pack one of the carved camphor-wood chests.
She had not heard him, because the white cockatoo was flapping its wings and screeching and Ifabi was chattering, and he stood in die doorway for a moment, watching her and wishing that he was not so acutely aware of being in love with her and that it was possible to make some other decision than the one his emotions were forcing upon him.
Half an hour ago the matter had been cruelly simple, for there had been nothing to decide. But a brief conversation on the waterfront had changed all that, and walking back from the harbour he had fought a battle with himself, and lost it This was defeat; and if he needed proof, he had it, for although he had made no sound. Hero’s head jerked round almost instantly, and he knew that she had been aware of his presence as surely as he too would always be aware of hers.
For a long moment that had no measure in time they looked at each other, steadily and with something that was almost hostility. Then Rory said abruptly: “I’ve had a boat sent round to the water-steps at the bottom of the garden. Will you come out with me for an hour or so? There is something I want to show you, and this seems about the last chance I shall get.”
He came into the room and held out a hand to help her to her feet as though he were confident that she would not refuse, and Hero looked at it without making any attempt to take it or to disguise her reluctance to do so.
“What’s the matter? Are you afraid?” gibed Rory. “You needn’t be; Batty’s coming with us. And if you insist, we’ll take Olivia. Though I’d far rather not, for she tells me she’s a poor sailor and there’s a reasonable breeze blowing.”
Why not? thought Hero. This time tomorrow he would be gone. It would all be over and ended. The Dolphins’ House would be empty and Batty too would have gone—and Ralub and Jumah and Hadir and the Virago—sailing out into the wide blue wastes of the Indian Ocean and out of her life
for ever. There was no reason why she should not go. It would be the last time…”
She would not take his proffered hand because she was afraid of touching him, but she rose and said composedly: “There is no need to trouble Olivia. If you will wait a moment, I will get a hat.”
It was mid-afternoon and the sun glittered blindingly on the dancing sea, sending nets of gold shivering down through the glass-clear water to entangle the fish and the branching coral. The wind that shrilled through the sheets and sang in the taut canvas no longer smelt of corruption, and Hero screwed up her eyes against the sun-glare and the flying spray and was silent.
She had not needed to ask where they were going, for once past the harbour, she knew. They were going to Kivulimi; though she did not know why Rory should wish her to see it again, unless it was to remind her of something he must know very well she would not forget He had told her that himself—“It’s nice to know that you are unlikely to forget me.’ Tomorrow he would be gone; and however long she lived and however hard she tried, she would not be able to forget him.
The tall, misshapen rocks of wind-worn coral came slowly into view, and beyond them the sheltered beach that she had first seen by starlight without knowing that this was her first sight of Zanzibar. The sun was lower now, and already there was an evening quality in the warm glow that shone on the ancient fortress wall and the tall Arab house that rose up behind it among a green foam of trees.
Behind them in the city, and in villages scattered all over the island, more than twenty thousand people had died since she had last been here. But looking at The House of Shade it was difficult to remember that, for here time appeared to have stood still. The garden was green and cool and smelled sweetly of jasmine and late roses, and once again there were pigeons cooing among the shadows. It was the same as the first time she had seen it—and the last.
Rory did not take her up to the house. He sent Batty there to speak to Daud, and led her instead along the narrow path that lay parallel to the outer wall, stopping in front of one of the stone cells that were half concealed by curtains of bougainvillæa, trumpet-flower and morning glory. He lifted aside the trails of creeper so that Hero could go in, and she obeyed him reluctantly. Mystified and a little apprehensive.