“That’s being foolish. Roger must have found you attractive. He married you.”
“I feel she and I are like one person.”
“Really, Myra, you’re getting fancies. He married her and she died soon after. It was a tragic accident. These things happen.”
“I know. That’s what I tell myself. I am beginning to believe she can’t rest. When people die violent deaths, it is said that they can’t rest. They sometimes come back. Just imagine it! You are alive one moment and then … without warning… you’re dead. You’ve left everything unfinished.” She looked at me fearfully. “I should hate to go like that.”
“Why do you think of such things? You’re here. You’re healthy. And you’re by no means old. Your whole life is before you.”
“Sometimes I wonder.”
I looked at her intently. “What do you mean?”
“Oh … nothing. I suppose I’m just nervous. My mother was always telling me to pull myself together.” She laughed. “You’re reasonable, Diana.”
“Am I? Lilias thinks I am very unpractical. I’ve got a wild imagination, she says. I don’t know what she would think of you and your fancies.”
“Even my mother admired Lilias. I can’t tell you how much better I feel now you are here. And it is lovely to have our afternoons together. I look forward to them. I expect I’m like this because I haven’t been very well. Roger got a tonic for me from the doctor.”
“So the doctor has been to see you?”
“He came to dinner … he and his wife. Roger told him that I wasn’t as well as he would like me to be. I was listless and homesick. It was all natural, of course, but he wondered if the doctor could give me something to ‘buck me up.’ Well, the result was he sent round this stuff. It’s something mixed with wine … and something else, I suppose. It’s not very pleasant to take.”
“Is it doing you any good?”
“I haven’t felt much different. Your visits do me more good than the doctor’s tonic, I think.”
“Then we must continue with that medicine.”
“I’m so pleased Roger asked you to come.”
“Yes, he was really concerned about you.”
“He’s always so good to me.” She hesitated and I waited for her to go on. She bit her lips slightly and said: “He wants me to settle down, I know. I try to. You like it here, don’t you?”
“Yes. Lilias is delighted with it. It’s such a change from the village. She always wanted to teach.”
“We wondered why she gave it up.”
I thought then how difficult it was to throw off a part of your life which you wanted to forget. It kept coming back to hurt you.
“Perhaps she needed a rest,” she went on. “She had just come to the end of one post and maybe did not like the prospect of facing another—though I should have thought Lilias would always be ready to face what she had to. Oh well, I’m glad it is turning out so well for her.” She paused and went on: “What were we saying about the house? Do you know I avoid going to the part where it happened?”
“You mean … ?”
“The staircase. I always feel there is something … haunted … about it.”
“That’s your imagination.”
“Maybe, but I want you to come there with me. I want to make you understand what I feel.”
“Now, you mean?”
“Why not?”
She rose and led the way, looking over her shoulder, as though to reassure herself that I was with her.
We reached that part of the house and stood at the top of the staircase. I could see what she meant. In the first place it was dark and shadowy. There was only one small window which gave little light, even in the afternoon. It might have been due to that that one felt it was gloomy, plus the knowledge that someone, not so very long ago, had plunged to her death down that staircase.
“There,” said Myra. “I see you can feel it.”
“I was just thinking that there was so little light here.”
“It’s more than that.”
“It’s because you are thinking of what happened here.”
She moved away and said: “Come and look at the Model House. I always do when I’m in this part of the house. I find it fascinating to see the house … just as it is … though on this small scale.”
As we came up to the house she stopped short and gave a gasp of dismay. “Oh … look!” she said.
I looked. A small carved figure, which was clearly meant to represent a woman, was lying at the foot of the staircase. I thought she was going to faint … and I caught her.
“It’s only a piece of wood,” I said.
“Who put it there?”
I said: “Would you like to go to your room? You really look shaken.”
She allowed me to take her there. She was trembling visibly. I suggested she lie down and when she did so I sat beside her. She held my hand and I was sure there was something she wanted to say to me but could not bring herself to do so.
“Stay with me,” she said. “Don’t go back to the schoolhouse tonight. There’s plenty of room here. Stay.”
I was astonished. “But …” I began.
“Please … please. I want you to. It’s important to me.”
“Myra … why?”
“I just feel …” She looked so earnest, her eyes pleading more than her words. I thought: she is afraid of something. I have to help her. If I did not and something happened …
I was romancing again. What was it about this house … the staircase … the Model House? She was making me feel, as she probably did, that there were evil forces at work.
I could not leave her.
I said: “I’ll send a note to Lilias. I’ll tell her I’m staying the night.”
“Oh, thank you. Will you really? Ring the bell … please ring the bell.”
I did so and a woman arrived.
“Luban,” she said. “Will you prepare a room? On this floor please. Miss Grey is staying the night.”
Luban was a lithe youngish woman; her skin was black as ebony and her large dark eyes seemed to hold some tragedy. I remembered that she was the mother of the deaf-mute I had seen on my previous visit, and I guessed that her air of sadness might have something to do with that poor boy.
“I must send a note to Lilias at once,” I said.
Myra found a pen and paper and I sat down and wrote:
Dear Lilias,
Myra wants me to stay the night. She is not very well and I think it is rather important to her. I hope that will be all right.
DIANA
Luban took the note and said it would be sent at once.
I was still in a state of amazement that I had fallen into this situation. It was only when I received Lilias’ note that I realised that it was not so extraordinary, after all.
Of course, it is all right, [she had written]. I’m sorry Myra is not well. Give her my best wishes.
LILIAS
As usual she brought calm common sense into the matter.
Nevertheless that night I spent at Riebeeck House was an uneasy one. I had dinner in Myra’s room as she said she did not feel well enough to leave it. Roger joined us. He seemed very pleased to see me there.
“This is delightful,” he said. “It was so good of you to stay with Myra. I am sure you are very grateful to … er … Diana, Myra.”
Why did he stumble over my name? I wondered. It was almost as though he knew it was not my true one.
Myra said that she was grateful and it was delightful to have me there.
“And this faintness?” he went on in deep concern.
“It was nothing. Just the heat, I suppose. I’m not accustomed to it yet.”
“Do you think we ought to consult the doctor?”
“Oh no … no.”
“Have you been taking your tonic?”
“Yes.”
“Well, we shall see. If you have any more attacks like this I am going to insist on your seeing the doctor.” He s
miled at me. “You and I will take care of her, won’t we, Diana?”
“She will soon be well, I am sure.”
When I was alone in my room that night I found myself going over what had been said that evening. Roger Lestrange did seem to be a devoted husband, but, as always, I could not be sure of him. I wondered why he hesitated over my name. It really did seem as though he knew it were not mine.
I must talk to Lilias. She would soon drive away my misgivings. But Lilias was not here, and I was in a strange bed in a house which Myra thought was haunted.
There were times during that restless night when I had an idea that I was being caught up in something mysterious, perhaps sinister, which I could not understand.
WHEN I AWOKE next morning I could not for the moment recall where I was. I sat up in bed startled: and then when I looked at the unfamiliar Dutch-style furniture I realised I was in Riebeeck House and I recalled the events of last night.
After a while Luban came in with hot water.
“Mrs. Lestrange was ill in the night,” she told me, in her melancholy sounding singsongy voice. “She very sick. Mr. Lestrange … he very worried.”
“Oh dear! She is better now?”
“Yes. Yes … better now.”
After she had gone I washed and dressed. Poor Myra! She was rather delicate, I supposed. It was not easy to uproot oneself and live in another country; and she had been terribly upset by that little figure in the Model House. I wondered who had put it there and why. Was it meant to represent Margarete? I supposed so, as it was lying at the foot of the staircase. It was a mischievous thing to do. I wondered if Paul had had a hand in it.
I went downstairs. The breakfast things were set out on the table, but there was no one there. I stepped out onto the stoop and walked down the steps to the garden. I was struck afresh by the lush beauty of the place. It seemed particularly delightful in the early morning. The sun was not yet too hot; everything seemed fresh; the scent of the flowers was almost overpowering and there was a murmur of insects in the air.
As I stood there Roger Lestrange came out.
“Good morning,” he said. “It was good of you to stay last night.”
“I felt a little guilty about leaving Lilias.”
“Lilias is quite capable of looking after herself.”
“I know. How is Myra? I heard from one of the servants that she was not well during the night.”
“She is better this morning, thanks. Who told you she had been ill?”
“It was the one who brought my hot water. Luban, I think.”
“She must have heard from Mrs. Prost. Luban doesn’t live in the house. She is with her husband and family in one of the rondavels.”
“Yes, I know. I did go out there and saw them once.”
“Yes, I had to call Mrs. Prost in the night. I was worried about Myra.”
“So it was as bad as that?”
“I wasn’t sure. I don’t know much about illness. I’m worried about her … Myra, I mean. What do you think?”
“I think she’s taking a little time to adjust to this new life. After all, she lived so long in that village and this is all very different. In time she will settle down.”
“Do you think so?” He sounded relieved. “She has never been ill like that before. She’s had her headaches, but she was sick … really ill. I was really alarmed. I thought of sending for a doctor … but she begged me not to. And then she began to recover a little. She probably ate something which did not agree with her.”
“Oh, maybe that was it. I know the heat can be very trying to people who are not used to it. I daresay she will soon be all right.”
“I was just wondering if I should get the doctor to have a look at her.”
“I should see how she feels.”
“You are a comfort, D-Diana.”
“I’m glad. I think she was rather upset by that figure in the Model House.”
“Figure? What figure?”
“A carved figure. It was supposed to be a woman, I think.”
“In the Model House?”
“Yes. I was with her. She was showing me one or two things about the house and there it was …”
“What was it like?”
“Oh, rather crudely carved.”
“Native work?”
“I suppose it could be. It was there at the foot of the staircase … not the spiral one, the other.”
His face had darkened. He muttered: “Who, in God’s name, could have put it there?”
“Myra had no idea. It was … just there.”
“Show me,” he said rather fiercely. “Show me exactly where it is.”
He went hurriedly into the house and I followed him. Swiftly we passed through to the other end of the house.
The figure was no longer in the Model House.
“Where is it?” he cried. “Show me.”
“It’s gone. It was lying there … just there, at the bottom of the staircase.”
For a few moments he did not speak. I had never before seen him at a loss for words. Then he said slowly: “It was that spot where we found her. Someone … is playing some silly joke. We must find out who.”
“Well,” I said, “it upset her. I thought she was going to faint. That was when I took her back to her room.”
He had recovered, but the colour had faded from his face and he looked rather pale.
“Thank you, Diana,” he said; and I noticed he used my name without the usual hesitation. “Thank you for looking after her.”
We walked to the other side of the house and descended the spiral staircase. “Don’t mention the figure to anyone. It might upset people.”
I said I wouldn’t.
Myra joined us for breakfast. She told us she was feeling considerably better.
“I thought I was going to die in the night,” she said.
“Oh come, my dear,” replied Roger. “You know I wouldn’t allow that.”
She laughed. She seemed quite happy.
“Thank you so much for staying, Diana. I did feel comforted to have you there. You will come and … and . .’ . stay again, won’t you?”
“/ am going to insist that she does,” added Roger.
WHEN I RETURNED to the schoolhouse it was to find that two letters had arrived. One of them was from Ninian, the other from Zillah.
Ninian began by saying that we should come home without delay.
Things are getting worse and I can see no solution to the problem but war. Chamberlain and Milner are going to reject this five years’ franchise suggested by Kruger and Smuts. It is only to be expected. Those who contribute so largely to the wealth of the country cannot be denied a say in its affairs. The British foray into South Africa some years ago was something of a humiliation for us. We cannot allow that to happen again. There is a rumour that Chamberlain is sending ten thousand troops to augment the army already there. You must realise what, a dangerous situation is brewing. There is time. You cannot have settled in very firmly yet. You and Miss Milne should get the next ship back to England while there is time.
He had clearly not received my letter as he had made no mention of it.
I reread his letter. It contained little else but the need for us to come home.
I turned to Zillah’s. Hers was more lighthearted.
I hope you are getting on all right. Ninian Grainger goes on and on about the trouble out there. He is certain you ought to come home. He asks me to write and add my persuasion to his. So I will. I miss you. Life is rather dull here. I think I shall travel a bit. I’ve been to London several times, but I mean go abroad. I think that would be fun. Wouldn’t it be nice if you were here? We could go together. I hope you will soon be home. We could have fun.
I showed Lilias Ninian’s letter. She read it and frowned.
“Go home!” she said. “Of course we won’t. Just as the school is beginning to expand. It’s doing us so much good here. The people are nice to us. They don’t want to make war on us. Th
is insistence of his is almost hysterical.”
“People in Kimberley are mainly British.”
“But the Boers and the natives … they are all very friendly.”
“Well, it wouldn’t be our war … yours and mine, Lilias.”
“You’re not hankering after going back, are you?”
I hesitated. I was thinking how kind and thoughtful Ninian was. I liked what Lilias called his hysterical insistence. It surprised and comforted me that after all this time I was still more than an ordinary case to him. I should love to talk to him and it saddened me that we were so far apart. So perhaps the answer was yes, I was hankering after going home.
I believe that if I had not suffered such bitter disillusionment over Jamie, if Ninian had not shown such an interest in Zillah, I might have faced my true feelings towards him. But having been so deceived, how could I be judge … even of myself? Perhaps I had been in a bewildered state since the trial.
“Are you?” Lilias was demanding.
“Well … we do seem to be settling in here, I suppose.”
“And you are so much better. I know you are. You don’t jump every time someone mentions something from the past.”
“No, I suppose I don’t.”
“What are you going to do? Write to him?”
“I suppose so … in due course.”
She nodded. “Tell him that these matters are exaggerated. Everything is just the same out here as when we came.”
“Yes, I will.” Lilias was right. We could not pack up and go home at a moment’s notice just because Ninian … miles away … had heard rumours of war.
I WAS BECOMING a frequent visitor to Riebeeck House. Sometimes I stayed the night. Lilias did not mind that; I felt she rather enjoyed dealing with all the pupils; and I was realising more and more that my presence in the school could be easily dispensed with. Lilias was delighted to have paid off the first instalment to the Emigration Society. I said that as I was taking more and more time off to be with Myra I did not deserve what I was paid and it should be hers. But she was adamant. “That matter is closed,” she said.
Meanwhile I was becoming well acquainted with the Lestrange household. Paul and I were good friends. He liked school and was doing very well; and although I sensed that he still bore a grudge against his stepfather for marrying his mother, he seemed to be accepting it. Roger was always charming to me, as he was with everyone. The servants all liked him; and I gathered that the house was a more pleasant place than it had been under the Riebeecks.
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