“That’s about it. Then, of course, there is Miss Myra Ellington—the fruit of the marriage. She must be approaching thirty. She is unmarried.”
“I’m surprised at that. I should have thought Mrs. Ellington would have found a suitable match for her daughter.”
“There are some who say that Miss Myra is not the marrying kind. She is pleasant … but rather quiet, self-effacing almost, which seems strange in Mrs. Ellington’s daughter. I believe that she is rather well off in her own right. Rumour says her grandfather left her money … the bulk of his fortune, they say. That would give her a certain independence, I suppose.”
“I see. I suppose a great many people marry for security.”
“A great many, I fear. Well, Miss Ellington doesn’t have to think of that. Though I did hear through Kitty that she seems to be rather interested in a man who is visiting the house.”
“I suppose in a village it is difficult to keep secrets, however much one tries …”
Lilias was looking at me severely. “You’ve got to stop thinking that everyone is obsessed by your case. It was just a nine days’ wonder. People quickly forget what doesn’t affect them.”
She was right. But so many conversations seemed to lead back to the subject.
Lakemere House was an impressive building of eighteenth century elegance. Marble steps led up to a portico. On the lawn, which was bordered by flower beds, was a large pond, in the centre of which was a statue which could have been Aphrodite.
A maid took us up to the drawing room where Mrs. and Miss Ellington were waiting to receive us.
Mrs. Ellington, seated in an armchair which resembled a throne, held out a hand. “Oh, Lilias … how nice to see you.”
Miss Ellington had risen and hovered beside her mother.
“This is Miss Diana Grey,” said Lilias.
The hand was extended. I took it, feeling I should curtsy, for there was something decisively regal about Mrs. Ellington.
“So nice. Welcome to Lakemere, Miss Grey. This is my daughter.”
We shook hands.
“So pleased you could come,” murmured Miss Ellington to which I replied that it was kind of Mrs. Ellington to invite me.
I studied the rich Miss Ellington. She was tallish and rather angular. There was an awkwardness about her and she had no real claim to beauty whereas her mother must have been a very pretty woman in her youth. But there was something appealing about Miss Ellington. It was due to a certain gentleness in her big brown rather spaniel-like eyes.
“I hear you have come to stay at the vicarage, Miss Grey,” said Mrs. Ellington. “What do you think of our little village?”
“I haven’t seen a great deal of it yet, but what I have seen I find charming.”
“We’re rather fond of it. So much is going on. It keeps us busy.”
A maid came in, wheeling a trolly on which everything needed for tea was laid out, including thinly cut sandwiches and a fruitcake.
“Thank you, Emma,” said Mrs. Ellington. “You may go. We’ll manage. Miss Grey, cream? Sugar?”
Miss Ellington took the cup and brought it to me.
A few minutes later the door opened and a man looked in. He stood in the doorway conveying surprise and penitence.
“Oh, I am so sorry. I had no idea you had guests. I’m interrupting.”
“Come along in, Roger,” said Mrs. Ellington warmly. “And indeed you are not interrupting. Mr. Lestrange is staying with us,” she said to me. “Come in and meet our guests.”
He was tall and powerfully built. I imagined he was in his late thirties. He was a very striking looking man—probably because of his physique. But it was something more than that. His complexion suggested he had been in a country with a warmer climate than ours; and he had intensely blue eyes which contrasted vividly with his almost black hair.
He advanced into the room, looking at me with interest.
“We have met,” said Lilias.
“Of course, but … er …” He was smiling at me.
Miss Ellington said: “This is Miss Grey who is staying at the vicarage.”
“How interesting!”
“Do sit down, Roger,” said Mrs. Ellington. “Myra, my dear, take Roger his tea.”
While the tea was being served Mrs. Ellington said to me: “Mr. Lestrange comes from South Africa. He is in England for only a short while, and he is spending a little time with us. He and my husband have business interests in common.”
“I’ve been riding,” he said, smiling at us all. “I find the countryside fascinating.”
“A little different from where you’ve come from, I daresay,” said Mrs. Ellington.
“Delightfully so. You are visiting, too, Miss Grey? From what part do you come?”
“From Scotland.”
“A beautiful country. What part?”
“From … er … Edinburgh.” I felt myself flush a little. I must control my fears. Since my ordeal I had felt so uneasy when anyone asked questions about myself.
“And what part of South Africa do you come from, Mr. Lestrange?” I asked quickly.
“A place called Kimberley. You may have heard of it.”
“Who has not heard of Kimberley?” said Mrs. Ellington. “Your diamonds have made you famous.”
“Perhaps notorious,” he replied, smiling at her. “Oh yes. There is no doubt that diamonds have put us in the news.”
“Mr. Lestrange is attached to one of the biggest diamond companies in the world,” said Mrs. Ellington proudly.
“Oh come,” he said with a laugh. “There are others.”
“You are a very modest man, Roger,” said Mrs. Ellington almost fondly.
“It must be very exciting when diamonds are discovered,” I said.
“Yes, and it can create chaos. Diamonds … gold … we’ve had our share of both. People begin to think they are lying in the ground just waiting to be picked up.”
“Once they are found there is a great deal of work to be done on them, I suppose,” said Lilias. “When people talk of diamond discoveries I do believe they think of bracelets and rings just waiting to be worn.”
“That’s true. And for every find there are hundreds of disappointments. I’m glad to say I have been one of the lucky ones.”
“Do you actually live in the town of Kimberley?” I asked.
“Yes. I have quite a large house … well, it’s adequate. I must say that since my wife died I have thought of moving. But … well … I have had to travel a great deal and have just not got round to it.”
There was a brief silence of respect for the death of his wife which he had spoken of with some feeling. He bit his lips and smiled brightly at us, and Miss Ellington said quickly: “It must be very interesting to be in a new country. Here, everything is so ancient.”
“Well, I would hardly call Africa new,” said Mr. Lestrange. “But here you have so much to remind you of a not-so-distant past. For instance your Norman churches and some of the houses.”
“The climate must be very different from here,” said Lilias.
“It is. But ours in Kimberley is healthy … so we are told.”
“One only has to look at you to see that,” said Mrs. Ellington.
“Are you staying long in England?” I asked.
“Until my business is completed. I am tempted to make it last a long time. You’ve no idea how they spoil me here.”
“We enjoy having you,” said Mrs. Ellington, “don’t we, Myra?”
Miss Ellington agreed, with real feeling, I thought.
“It makes a change in our simple life,” went on Mrs. Ellington. “My husband’s friends stay from time to time.” She raised her eyes to the ceiling. “But on this occasion Myra and I are finding it most enjoyable and we shall do our best to make you extend your visit, Roger.”
I could not help noticing Myra Ellington. She had changed since he came in. Her spaniel’s eyes strayed often to him. She is attracted by him, I thought.
As fo
r him, he was different from anyone I had ever known. I wondered about him. He came from South Africa. Had he been born there or was he one of the men who had gone out from home in search of diamonds? He was not what I would imagine an Afrikaner … which would mean that he was of Dutch origin. His name suggested he might be French. I believed that when the Dutch agriculturists who were Boers settled in South Africa, they were joined by some Huguenots who were in flight from France. But he did not look French either.
However, since his arrival the tea party was turning out to be more interesting than I had thought it would be. Instead of the expected conversation of village affairs, we were given an interesting insight into a world of which hitherto I had known nothing.
Mrs. Ellington allowed Roger Lestrange to dominate the conversation, which surprised me; but she, like her daughter, was clearly very attracted by him.
He was a vivid talker and obviously enjoyed his attentive audience. He touched briefly on the beauty of the scenery, often rugged, majestic, awe-inspiring; he talked of the animals —lions, leopards, panthers, giraffes, buffalo, rhinoceros and hyenas; and as I listened I felt I was there in a new world, far away from all the fears and nightmares which seemed to be constantly with me.
“It sounds like paradise,” said Myra Ellington.
“There is another side to it,” he said ruefully. “You can see a lion descending on a beautiful deer—the poor creature’s terror when it realises its fate. That is nature. Every animal must fend for itself. They go in fear of their lives. One moment they are running along, exulting in the joys of being alive and free. They do not see the powerful enemy waiting for the moment to spring. Suddenly they are powerless. Death is facing them.”
“It sounds awful,” said Myra, shivering.
“It’s nature.”
“Thank goodness we are not like the animals in the jungle,” said Lilias.
“People find themselves facing dangers sometimes,” I could not help saying.
Roger Lestrange was looking intently at me. “How right you are, Miss Grey. We are all in a jungle of sorts. Ours is different, of course … but the dangers are there.”
“What a morbid conversation!” cried Mrs. Ellington. “Mr. Ellington will be returning home tomorrow. I am sure you will be pleased, Roger. Then you won’t have to see so much of us tiresome females.”
“They are far from tiresome! I promise I shall try to see more and more of their delightful company.”
It was not long before the conversation turned back to Africa and I learned more about that country during that tea party than I had known before.
Roger Lestrange said he could see trouble coming. The Boers resented British rule in South Africa. There had been discontent since the British came in as far back as 1814. They were far too eager to give privileges to the black races since they had brought in emancipation of slavery. This had crippled the farmers for it deprived them of free labour.
He talked of Cecil Rhodes who had founded the state of Rhodesia and had wanted British rule all over Africa; of how he had shared that dream with a man called Leander Starr Jameson who, two years before, had been engaged in the famous raid which had ended in disaster for him.
We all remembered hearing of the Jameson Raid, but had either forgotten or never really known what it was all about.
“Jameson was a hothead,” said Roger Lestrange. “That was surprising because he was a doctor. He was born in your city. You did say you came from Edinburgh? He studied medicine there and came out to practise in Kimberley where he became friendly with Cecil Rhodes. There was a good deal of trouble between the Uitlander party (those are the people settled there who are not Boers—mostly English) and the Boer government.
The President was Stephanus Johannes Paulus Kruger, usually known as Paul Kruger. You must have heard of him.”
“We have heard of him most certainly,” said Mrs. Ellington grimly. “There was all that trouble about the letter sent by the German Kaiser congratulating him.”
“Ah, yes, that was about the Jameson Raid. Rhodes and Jameson had planned together to surprise the Boers west of Johannesburg. Rhodes then decided that the plan could not succeed and called the whole thing off. But, as I said, Jameson was a hothead; he thought he could act alone and win—so he decided to carry on. When he arrived at Krugersdorp just west of Johannesburg he was surprised by a strong force of Boers, was overwhelmed and taken captive. The Jameson Raid was therefore a failure and responsibility for it was disowned by Rhodes and the British government. It was a complete disaster.”
“And nearly resulted in war between us and Germany,” said Mrs. Ellington. “Mr. Ellington was horrified at the prospect. It was a near thing. We felt we had to put that horrid Kaiser in his place.”
“However,” went on Roger Lestrange, “the British government decided that what was happening in South Africa was not worth a war with Germany and so allowed the trouble to blow over.”
“I should have liked to teach those arrogant Germans a lesson,” said Mrs. Ellington.
“The situation is explosive,” went on Roger Lestrange. “Rhodes and Kruger are very watchful of each other. The Jameson Raid may not have succeeded in what it was meant to do, but it is not forgotten.”
“I should like to see South Africa,” said Myra Ellington.
Roger Lestrange smiled at her. “Perhaps one day you will.”
Mrs. Ellington evidently felt that for too long the conversation had been out of her control and I could see she was determined to change it.
She talked about the village and the fete which was some weeks off but needed a lot of planning.
“I wonder if you will be with us then, Miss Grey,” she said.
“Diana’s plans are a little uncertain just now,” Lilias told her.
“But of course. Well, if you are … I wondered if you would take over one of the stalls?”
“I am sure I should like that,” I told her.
“And you will help, too, Roger?”
“I don’t think I should make a very good stall holder.”
“Oh, we’d find something for you to do.”
“Is there a possibility of your being here?” asked Myra.
“I am not sure how long my business will take. But I must not continue to encroach on the hospitality I have received in this house.”
“Oh, nonsense,” cried Mrs. Ellington. “It’s a pleasure to have you.”
“So kind … but I am afraid sometimes that I am imposing.”
“Nonsense. I would not hear of your leaving and going to some hotel. My husband would be most displeased … and so would I.”
He smiled at Lilias and me. “You see what a wonderful hostess I have. I consider myself most fortunate to be here.” He included us all in his smile.
Lilias was glancing at her watch. It was five-thirty, I saw from my own. I knew that visits with Mrs. Ellington were usually on village business and given a limited time.
And now it was clearly the time for us to depart.
We thanked Mrs. Ellington and said goodbye.
Mr. Lestrange, with Myra Ellington, accompanied us out to the dogcart.
As we turned out of the drive, Lilias said to me: “Well, what did you think of that?”
“Very interesting. I enjoyed hearing about South Africa. I think Myra Ellington is quite fond of him.”
“Exactly my impression. It would be nice for her if he married her. I think she would like a husband.”
“I wonder how she would feel about leaving home?”
“She was very eager to hear about Africa.”
“Well, we shall see.”
THE NEXT DAY I had a letter from Zillah. She had written once before. She really seemed to care and to understand my feelings.
My dear, dear Davina,
I hesitated whether I should call you Diana, but somehow it seemed going a bit too far. But perhaps I should have, in case this falls into someone else’s hands. You will have to destroy it as soon as you hav
e read it—which sounds rather dramatic.
How are you getting on? I think a great deal about you. But I’m sure you did right to go and become Diana. You’re going to feel better … calmer and all that.
It seems very strange here without you. People are different. Well, I fancied those round here never much approved of me—so I don’t miss them. I keep saying “I must tell Davina that” and then … you’re not there.
Do let me know how things are.
By the way, your Ninian Grainger has called twice. Really, it is most extraordinary! And, I think, a little indiscreet!
I hinted this but he shrugged it off. He gets me to talk about myself. He’s very inquisitive. I suppose he gets so used to asking questions that it’s a habit with him. He’s attentive. Perhaps I ought to ask him what his intentions are! Pretty obvious, I suppose. But I am rather surprised.
Well, it makes a diversion.
He took me out to dinner one evening. I am sure he thought I was going to ask him in when he brought me home. There’s men for you! I suppose I ought to send him about his business. Then I remember that he did get you off and I’m tremendously grateful to him for that.
I thought I might go to London for a little spell. I feel I want to get away.
Do write. I am thinking such a lot about you.
Lots and lots of love,
ZILLAH
I sat back, the letter in my hand. I was thinking of Ninian Grainger, and I was disappointed in him. I had thought he had some regard for me, but from the moment he had seen Zillah he had become bemused by her. I thought of those sessions together when we had talked so earnestly and the most important thing in the world to him seemed to be to prove me Not Guilty. I remembered that when the verdict had been given, he had held my hands and I had seen with emotion the joy in his face; and, smarting as I was from Jamie’s desertion, I had felt uplifted by it. At that moment I had seen so clearly what Jamie’s affection for me had really been. It had simply grown out of the meeting between two lonely people in the streets of Edinburgh; and so we had believed ourselves to be in love—but it was a love which had wafted away on the first harsh wind.
I had seen it then for what it was and I had allowed myself to believe that Ninian’s care for me—I might say his dedication— was of a very different calibre.
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