“I’ve slept all through the night!”
“That’s rare, is it?”
“I usually wake and see things …”
“Well, you didn’t last night. I’ve been here all the time.”
“What? Sitting there?”
“It was nothing. The armchair is very comfortable. I dozed for hours. I just wanted to be here if you awakened.”
“Oh, Diana, I am lucky to have such a friend.”
“I have a confession to make. I knocked over your tonic. I’m afraid I’ve spilt the lot. It made such a mess on the floor. Be careful where you tread. They’ve taken it up, but little splinters of glass can be dangerous.”
“The tonic!” she said. “I was supposed to take it last night.”
“I hope we shall be able to get hold of the doctor today. We have tried already, but apparently the doctors are all in the hospital. I hope you aren’t going to miss the tonic too much.”
“Roger made me promise to take it.”
“I know. He had great faith in it. But don’t worry. I daresay the doctor will be here today and then we shall get some more.”
During the day she seemed a little better. She was talking quite reasonably and there were no more hallucinations.
I stayed with her all during the day and the doctor did not come. Mrs. Prost suggested that on the following night I should use the room immediately next to hers so that if she needed me in the night all she had to do was knock.
“You can’t have two nights sitting in a chair,” she added.
To my surprise Myra agreed with this.
The room I slept in, I realised, was the one Roger used. It was not quite so large as the one he had shared with Myra and which she now occupied alone. The bed was comfortable and there was a bureau by the window. I did not sleep very well. I was waiting for a tap on the wall.
I was glad when the morning came. I went immediately to Myra’s room. She was sleeping peacefully; the stick with which she was going to tap on the wall was in the same position as I had left it last night.
During the morning she seemed almost like her old self; I was delighted. And in the afternoon the doctor called. Mrs. Prost and I were with Myra while he examined her.
Afterwards he sat in the drawing room and talked to us both.
He was full of apologies for not having come earlier.
“There is chaos in the hospital,” he said. “People are still creeping through the enemy’s lines … if you can call them lines. It can’t be much longer, I’m sure. Now, for the time being, there is nothing to worry about with Mrs. Lestrange. I don’t know what happened to her. But she is going to be all right. She’s weak … but her heart’s all right and so are her lungs. Well, everything is. Might have been poisoned by some insect or other. There are some venomous ones here, as you know, Mrs. Prost … and they like a bit of new blood. They go for the newcomer. And I think some of the old-timers become immune. She needs building up.”
“She has had hallucinations,” I said.
“That could well be. I haven’t been out here all that time myself. I am sure newcomers react more rapidly to these poisonous things. She needs some good red meat. It’s a pity things are as they are.”
“By the way, Dr. Middleburg, I had an accident and knocked over the tonic you gave her. She needs more.”
“She shall have it.”
“We were worried about her missing it.”
“Oh no. It was only a mild pick-me-up. I think she might go on with it. If you could send someone round, I’ll give you some more.”
I felt very relieved when he left us, and so did Mrs. Prost.
That afternoon one of the servants collected the tonic and I said we should not leave it on the side table again. There was a little cupboard in the room and I put it in that.
I spent another night at Riebeeck House and in the morning was delighted to see that Myra’s improvement had continued.
I went back to the schoolhouse and promised I would call the following day.
That was a grim time. No food could be brought in and stores had to be guarded. Military law prevailed and we did not know what our fate would be from one day to the next.
Lilias made an effort to carry on as normal at the school, but not all the pupils came. John Dale continued to be a frequent visitor.
“He’s a wonderful friend to us,” said Lilias more than once. He was very eager to protect and often smuggled special items of food into the schoolhouse.
Soldiers now and then broke through the commandos who were surrounding the town. That usually happened after dark. They brought us news and we learned that we were not the only town under siege. Ladysmith and Mafeking were in a similar plight.
The situation was growing more and more alarming. The easy victory expected by the British was even longer delayed. They were learning something of the difficulties of fighting in a strange land far away from home in a terrain unknown to them, while the enemy were fully aware of all its hazards.
“Ninian was right,” I said. “We should have gone home.”
“I shouldn’t have wanted that,” replied Lilias, and John Dale, who happened to be there at the time, smiled at her; it occurred to me that the feeling between them was strong and growing stronger, as such feelings will in a situation such as we were in.
Of course she wanted to be here. But what of myself? I wished I had gone home, no matter what I should have to face there, because then I could have seen Ninian. When one is close to death—and how could we know at that time what would happen to us?—one faces up to the truth. I had been halfway to falling in love with Ninian. It was only my affair with Jamie which had made me cautious.
Yes, I should have liked to be home with Ninian.
And here I was in a besieged city, only half aware of what was going on around me, never knowing from one moment to another when violent conflict was going to break out.
It was no use denying it. I did wish I had gone home. It was not because I was afraid of this war, but simply because I should be near Ninian.
I WAS GLAD that the schoolhouse was close to Riebeeck House. One could not walk short distances without being stopped by soldiers. They were everywhere. A watchful eye was kept on the commandos who encircled the town and every now and then one heard the sound of gunfire. Soldiers patrolled the town and no one ventured out after dark.
Christmas was with us. How nostalgic I felt, and so, I am sure, did countless others, for the Christmasses at home: the Yule logs in the grate, perhaps the snow falling outside … the security. How different was this!
And here we were in a strange land, so different from our own, in a city besieged by an enemy who could at any time come in and force our garrison to surrender.
Lilias and I would sit on the little stoop and talk. Dragonflies and insects whose names we did not know flew around us. Even the evenings, when the sun had dropped out of sight, were hot. I was homesick for the rain and Ninian. I dreamed of a life wherein I had met Ninian at some other time and place than at my trial; I dreamed that everything was as it had been when my mother was alive. I imagined Ninian had been brought to the house by one of our Edinburgh friends and love had grown between us. Zillah was not in that dream, of course. She belonged to the nightmare life which I was trying to pretend had never existed.
Foolish dreams! But Ninian had cared about me. His last letter had been urgent. “Come home.” Would he have written so if he had not cared a little?
Then reality would creep in. I remembered how he had turned his attention to Zillah.
“We ought to try to do something for Christmas,” Lilias said.
“Such as?” I asked.
“Give the children some sort of party. Say on Christmas Eve.”
“Give them a feast? Goose? Turkey? Delicate chestnut stuffing? Plum pudding to follow? I do not think, Lilias, that those items are on the rations this week.”
“I wish we could give them a party, though. Play games … that sort of t
hing.”
“We could play the games, I suppose. And that is about all. We’re in the wrong place for feasting.”
“Nevertheless, I think we should try something. Perhaps they could all bring their own food.”
“Surely not! Where would they get it?”
“From their allowance.”
“I don’t think it would amount to much. Has it occurred to you, Lilias, that food is getting more and more scarce?”
“Well, I suppose that is the way with sieges.”
Lilias was determined. A few children still came to school, though the numbers were dwindling. Paul was one of those who came. Lilias was determined to act as though there was nothing to worry about. She told the children we should soon be relieved. The Queen and her soldiers would never allow us to remain in this state. One of the glories of being under the protection of the British flag was that it flew over almost the whole of the world. She pointed out the red sections on the map. “It is the Empire on which the sun never sets,” she told them, “for when it is nighttime in England it is daytime in some part of the world which belongs to our great Empire.”
She spoke with such fervour and passion that every child believed that we should be rescued before long, and some, I am sure, expected the Queen herself to appear at the head of her soldiers.
Paul was very enthusiastic about the Christmas party. He suggested some games we might play. Lilias told all the children who still came to school that they must let the others know there was to be a party on Christmas Eve and they must all come if they could.
On the twenty-third of December, Paul came to school in a state of great excitement. He was carrying a large can and when he took off the lid he revealed four fair-sized fish.
“It’s for the party,” he said. “We can give them a feast after all.”
“Where did you get them?” asked Lilias.
“In the Falls,” he said. “In our grounds.”
“I didn’t know there were fish there,” said Lilias.
“I was walking past and I saw the fish leap over the Falls and I thought, that would be good to eat. So I went back and got a rod and things … and I caught these.”
“What a find!” cried Lilias. “It’s Providence. Paul, you are going to make our Christmas feast possible!”
“We can make some bread. We have a little flour,” I suggested.
“The loaves and fishes,” said Lilias. “This is truly a miracle.”
The party was a great success. Most of the children came. Anna Schreiner was absent. Her father said that Christmas was not a time for feasting and making merry but for prayer. Poor little Anna! I did not think she would have much to rejoice about this Christmas.
However, we cooked the fish. There was not a great deal of it. But it was different. We were able to make lemonade and, if the children were not overfed, at least they were able to play games.
The story of the fishes spread through the town. Food! And discovered in the stream which ran through the grounds of Riebeeck House! People took their rods and went down to the stream.
I do not think there were any great catches, but even a little was welcome.
WE HAD MOVED INTO JANUARY. Little had changed except that food had become more scarce and there were no means of getting fresh supplies. Hopes for early relief were fading.
Myra had made a surprise recovery. She was still weak and nervous, but there were no more hallucinations. She was even surprised that she could ever have believed in them.
I made a point of being there when the doctor visited her again, because I was anxious to hear what he had to say.
I sensed that he thought she was a rather hysterical woman who had found it difficult to adjust to a new country, especially in the prevailing circumstances. He was growing more and more certain that she had been poisoned by some insect. Her symptoms could have been due to a form of poisoning; and she had reacted badly in view of her state of health. However, the trouble was over now and she was getting better every day. All she needed was to eat good food—not very easy in the circumstances—but the main thing was to stop worrying about herself. Then all would be well.
“You must make sure that your mosquito net is secure at night. Avoid those places where you know there are insects. I really don’t think there will be any need for me to visit you again.”
It was good news.
It must have been about a week after the doctor’s visit. I was on my way to her and, as I approached the house, I knew that something disastrous had happened. There was a great deal of shouting from the servants who seemed everywhere. They were gabbling together. I could not understand their language, although I had picked up a word or two.
When I discovered what had happened I felt sick with shock.
Mrs. Prost, who was in the garden, saw me and came up. She told me what had happened. It seemed that one of the boys, fishing near the Falls that afternoon, had discovered the body of the little deaf-mute in the water. The boy had immediately gone to tell Njuba.
“He’s been there ever since … just kneeling, staring into the water. It’s terrible. That poor child.”
“How could it have happened?” I asked.
“We wondered at the time,” said Mrs. Prost. “You remember how he disappeared. We thought he’d run away … and to think all that time he was lying there … dead.”
That afternoon stands out clearly in my mind. Whenever I smell the frangipani blossom I remember it vividly. I can see Njuba kneeling there on the bank. I have never witnessed such abject misery. When the men came to take the body away he was still there. Then he stood up, his hands clenched. He cried out: “This my boy. Someone kill him I will not forget.”
Luban took his hand and led him back to their rondavel and we heard lamentations all through that day.
It was true that the boy had been murdered. There was sufficient evidence to prove that he had been strangled even though he had been so long in the water.
“Who could have done this to a little boy?” demanded Myra.
“And why?” I asked.
“What terrible times we live in. Do you think it has anything to do with the war?”
“I don’t know. What harm could he do to either side?”
It was a mystery and for a few days people talked of little else. It was all, who did it? and why? That was a question no one could answer.
But when there was so much about which to be concerned, the mysterious death of a little native boy did not seem so very significant.
LIFE MUST NECESSARILY become more difficult as time passed. We knew we were all in acute danger. With the arrival of each day we wondered whether this would be the one when the Boers attacked the town. But the garrison had been strengthened just before the siege began; there were soldiers everywhere; it would be no light task and the battle would be fierce.
Lilias was as strong and practical as ever; and because of her growing friendship with John Dale, I did not feel that I was deserting her because I was so frequently at Riebeeck House. Myra needed my company more than she did.
I was getting to know Paul better. He was a pleasant boy and I sensed he rather enjoyed the dangers of living in a besieged town. Danger to him meant excitement, which was preferable to dull ordinary living. He was learning to shoot, as many boys of his age were, but, of course, they lacked live ammunition, which was hoarded in case it should be needed for real battle.
I seemed to have become part of the household at Riebeeck House because I was so often there.
Mrs. Prost’s attitude towards me puzzled me a little. I was never quite certain of how she regarded me. There were times when I thought I was welcome and she was quite fond of me. At others she seemed to be regarding me with something like suspicion. This surprised me a little, for I should have said she was a predictable woman, with fixed ideas from which she would find it difficult to swerve.
She had an affectionate contempt for Myra. Nobody could dislike Myra. She was always thoughtful to the
servants and never behaved with the slightest arrogance. She was as different from her mother as one person could be from another. She was gentle, inoffensive and likable.
I understood Mrs. Prost’s feelings towards her, but in my case her attitude seemed to sway between confiding friendship and a strange aloofness.
I discovered the reason for this one day and it was a great shock to me.
Myra was lying down, as she did most days, for she still tired easily, and Mrs. Prost asked me if I would go along to her sitting room.
I did so and when I was seated there I thought her manner decidedly strange. It was almost as though she were forcing herself to perform some unpleasant duty.
At length it came.
“I’ve been meaning to talk to you for some time, Miss Grey,” she said. “It’s been on my mind and I couldn’t decide what to do for the best.”
“Is it about Mrs. Lestrange?”
She pursed her lips and frowned.
“Well, it’s not really … although I suppose you could say she might be concerned.”
“Please tell me.”
She rose and went to a little chest in the corner of the room. She opened a drawer and took a handkerchief which she handed to me.
To my amazement I recognised it as one of mine. It had been given to me by my mother with six others. They all had my initials embroidered in a corner. I looked down at the D and G attractively entwined. Davina Glentyre. I flushed slightly, for into my mind had flashed a picture of Zillah. “It’s safe to use the same initials.” How right she was.
“It’s yours, isn’t it, Miss Grey?”
“Oh yes, it is. Where did you find it?”
“Well, that’s what upset me a bit. I’ve been meaning to talk to you for some time. You see, you’ve been so good to Mrs. Lestrange and I know she’s really fond of you. But when I found that …”
“I don’t know what you mean?”
“I think you do, Miss Grey. Cast your mind back. It was the day … right back, you know. It was one of the times when you spent the night in this house. I found the handkerchief under the master’s bed.”
“What? How did it get there?”
I was flushing hotly while she looked at me, gently shaking her head.
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