Snare of Serpents

by Виктория Холт

  “Now,” she went on, “I’m not one of these people who thinks everybody ought to live like monks and nuns when they’re not. I know these things can happen … men being men. But it’s different somehow with a woman.”

  I stood up indignantly. “What are you implying, Mrs. Prost?”

  “Now sit down, Miss Grey. I’m not exactly blaming you. The master is a very attractive man. He’s a kind man, but even kind men find their fancy straying, and it’s not in men’s nature to control that sort of thing. It’s different with a woman. She’s got to be a bit more careful.”

  “What you are saying is absurd.”

  She nodded her head. “I know, I know. The temptation comes and I must say he is a very good-looking man and he’s got all the charm you could wish for. And I know things are not … well, what they might be with him and Mrs. Lestrange. Separate rooms and all that. But I just thought you ought to be careful. I just happened to glance under the bed to see if it had been swept. It hadn’t … and there was this handkerchief.”

  “I have no idea how it came to be there.”

  “Well, I thought I’d better warn you. When he comes back … and you being in and out of the house … and all that … just like family.”

  “You have no need to worry about that, Mrs. Prost. There has never been anything of an intimate nature between Mr. Lestrange and me.”

  “I guessed you’d take it like this. That’s why I didn’t say anything before. I’m not what you might call a prude. I thought it might have been just a slipup. These things happen. I’m not saying it’s very nice … but there it is.”

  “I must insist …” I began.

  “Well, I’ve said my say. It’s not my affair, but I think it could lead to trouble.”

  “I keep telling you there’s nothing … nothing …”

  “Oh, I suppose it got in there somehow. You never know, do you? But there it was … and I wouldn’t have liked anyone else to have found it.”

  I stood up, still clutching the handkerchief. “Mrs. Prost,” I said, “I assure you that I had never been in that room until the night I slept there when Mrs. Lestrange was so ill and Mr. Lestrange had gone away.”

  “Then if you say so, dear, that’s all right with me. I just thought I ought to mention it … because when he comes back … well, it wouldn’t be very nice, would it, for you or him or Mrs. Lestrange?”

  “I see,” I said, “that you do not believe me.”

  “Look. We’re good friends. That’s why I told you … warning you like. These things can cause a lot of trouble.”

  “But I keep telling you …”

  “All right,” she said. “I’ve said my say and that’s an end of the matter.”

  But was it an end of the matter? Mrs. Prost believed that I visited Roger Lestrange in his bedroom. I felt as though I wanted to run out of that house and never come back again.

  As SOON AS I ENTERED the schoolroom Lilias knew that something had happened.

  “What’s wrong?” she said.

  I was silent for a few seconds, then I burst out: “I never want to go to that house again.”

  “Riebeeck? What’s happened?”

  “Mrs. Prost … she believes I have had a … relationship … with Roger Lestrange.”

  “A relationship?”

  “She found a handkerchief under his bed. It was the morning after I had stayed in the house when he was there, too. She drew conclusions.”

  Lilias stared at me.

  I said: “You don’t think … ?”

  “Of course not.”

  “It’s horrible, Lilias. She seems to think he is irresistible. It was awful. She kept saying she understood. I think that was the worst thing. And I think when she showed me the handkerchief I looked … guilty. It was one my mother had given me. It had my initials on it. And for the moment it took me right back. I had thought it best not to change my initials … whereas if I had changed them, she wouldn’t have known the handkerchief was mine.”

  “Wait a minute,” said Lilias calmly. “There’s not much tea left, but this is the occasion to use it.”

  Sitting talking to Lilias was a comfort.

  “Do you think,” she said, “that someone put the handkerchief there?”

  “Who? and why?”

  “Someone who wanted to suggest that you had spent a night there.”

  “Not Mrs. Prost.”

  “No. There doesn’t seem much point in that. But suppose someone put it there for her to find.”

  “It might have been someone else who found it.”

  “Perhaps that wouldn’t have mattered.”

  “What are you thinking, Lilias?”

  “I don’t quite know. But someone in that house might have wanted to suggest that you and Roger Lestrange were lovers.”

  “But why?”

  “That’s all part of the mystery. How could your handkerchief have got into a room in which you had never been at that time, unless someone had taken it there?”

  She was frowning and I said: “What are you thinking, Lilias?”

  “I am not sure. Myra was there …”

  “She was not well. That was the reason why I stayed.”

  “She was a little strange, wasn’t she? Imagining things? Perhaps she wanted to prove something against her husband and you.”

  “She is devoted to him and I think he is to her.”

  “But she was seeing visions. Or did that come later? I’m just letting my thoughts run on. The fact remains that the handkerchief was there. It had to be put there. Then who … and more to the point … why?”

  “I feel I never want to go into that house again.”

  “If you don’t it might look as though you are guilty.”

  “How could I tell Myra?”

  “Stay away for a while and see how you feel. Something may occur to you. A handkerchief! It’s strange what trouble such insignificant objects can cause. Think of Desdemona. But try not to brood too much on it. I think there’s enough for another cup in the pot. We mustn’t waste the precious stuff.”

  We had come to no conclusion, but it was, as always, a comfort talking to Lilias.

  THERE WAS A FEELING of desperation in the town. We knew that something had to happen soon. There was no actual talk of surrender, but the thought was in the air. No matter how strong the spirit, people could not live without food.

  Nothing was coming in now. All through that stiflingly hot January we waited for news. We would hear the sound of sporadic gunfire which seemed to be getting closer. Occasionally a shell hit the town and there were casualties. We lived with the thought that at any time we could be among them. All through those hot days death hovered over us. Familiarity made it easier to live with. I suppose we accepted it and it ceased to be uppermost in our minds.

  All the same it seemed almost incongruous at such a time to be upset because a suggestion had been made about me; but it was constantly in my mind. Images suggested by Mrs. Prost’s conclusions kept recurring and there was always the mystery as to who could have put my handkerchief in such a place. It could only be that someone wanted to prove something against me.

  Lilias, with whom I talked again of the matter, said I was making too much of it.

  “You’ve suffered a great shock,” she said, “and you must be on guard against allowing yourself to imagine some evil fate is working against you.”

  I knew that she was right when she said I was haunted by the past. I had hoped to escape it by leaving England. I knew as well as she did that there was no hope of a peaceful life for me until I had cut myself away from what had happened.

  “Innocence should be your shield against all that,” said Lilias. “You know you were innocent. I knew I was innocent when I was accused. It helps. I’ve told John about the affair of the necklace and he agrees with me.”

  She was right, of course. I had to be reasonable. The handkerchief must have been caught up in something and got carried into that room. It seemed implausib
le, but strange things did happen.

  After a few days I began to feel a little better about the affair, but I had no desire to go back to Riebeeck House.

  Myra came to the schoolhouse. She was looking much better now. Her cure had been quite miraculous and she had lost most of her nervousness.

  She looked at me in some consternation.

  “You haven’t been to see me.”

  “Well … there’s been a lot to do here.”

  She looked surprised, but did not ask what.

  “We missed you,” she went on. “Mrs. Prost was quite upset.”

  And so she should be, I thought. It is because of her that I’ve stayed away. All the same I was glad she had mentioned what was in her mind. I would rather know than have her continue with her speculations.

  “She thought you might have been offended about something. I told her that was nonsense. But I thought I’d come to see you. Is everything all right?”

  “Hardly all right, Myra. Things are getting worse. We shall all be starving soon.”

  “Yes, I know. And someone was killed last night … near the church.”

  “It’s unsafe to be in the streets.”

  “It’s unsafe to be anywhere, so one might as well be in one place as another. I wonder when it is all going to end. Oh, Diana, I wonder about Roger. Where can he be?”

  “He didn’t say, did he? Well, he couldn’t, of course. It was some mission from the garrison … to let people know what was happening in the town, I suppose, and get help if possible.”

  “I pray he is all right. It’s awful that he’s not here now that I am so much better. He couldn’t understand what was wrong with me. He used to worry so much. And to think it was that wretched insect. Who would have thought little things like that could do so much harm? We’ve had rather an upset at Riebeeck. It’s poor old Njuba.”

  “It was so terrible about the boy.”

  “If it had been an accident it would have been different … though that would have been terrible enough. But to think he was strangled and someone had deliberately killed him …”

  “Who could have done that, Myra, to a helpless little boy?”

  “It’s a mystery. If it wasn’t for the siege there would have been an enquiry, I suppose. But now nobody thinks of anything but how long we can hold out.”

  “That is understandable.”

  “What I was going to tell you was that poor Njuba is acting strangely. He just wanders about, muttering to himself. He got into the house and was found going in and out of the rooms… as though he were looking for something. Mrs. Prost found him turning out cupboards. She asked what he wanted and he wouldn’t tell her. She didn’t know what to do. She sent for Luban to take him home. It’s very sad. Poor Luban. She’s lost her son and her husband seems as though he is losing his wits. What terrible things happen, Diana!”

  “Yes,” I replied. “That’s true.”

  “Please come and see me.”

  “It is just as easy for you to come here.”

  “Yes, but there is more room at the house and the gardens are nice.”

  “All right. I’ll come.”

  Lilias was pleased when I told her. “It’s the best thing. Mrs. Prost would think she had been right if you stayed away. You can convince her how wrong she was, I’m sure.”

  “But / am not sure about that,” I replied. “I think she has made up her mind that her beloved master is irresistible, and she exonerates him absolutely; and she doesn’t take too stern a view of me because he is the man in the case.”

  FEBRUARY HAD COME. We were living on small rations. When we awoke in the mornings we wondered what the day would bring. This state of affairs could not continue. Something had to happen soon.

  There were constant outbreaks of gunfire; it had ceased to be sporadic and was normal now. One night a party of three men arrived in the town, having broken through the forces surrounding us; one of them was wounded.

  There was jubilation in the streets next morning. People stood about talking with an animation which I had not seen for some time. We should not give up hope yet. The British were advancing. They had suffered a major defeat at Spion Kop, but after that things had changed. Ammunition had been pouring into the country. Two names were mentioned with awe: Major General Horatio Herbert Kitchener and Field Marshal Sir Frederick Sleigh Roberts. They were marching on and were coming to our relief.

  New hope was springing up everywhere. People were saying that it was not possible for the great British Empire to be beaten by a handful of farmers. The British now had the measure of the land. “We’ve got the men, we’ve got the ships and we’ve got the money, too.”

  Hope was a great reviver. People were smiling in the streets. “It won’t be long. Kitchener and Roberts are on the way.”

  I went to Riebeeck House. Lilias was right. To stay away could imply that Mrs. Prost’s suspicions were correct. All the same I did not like staying in the house. I often suggested to Myra that we sit in the gardens. In any case, they were beautiful. The scent of the flowers, the murmur of insects suggested peace … even in these troubled times. Sometimes we walked.

  We went along past the waterfall where poor Umgala’s body had been found and on as far as the rondavels.

  I do not know what impulse led me to that particular rondavel. It was a little apart from the others and it looked as though it were falling into decay. The grass grew tall about it. There was a hole in the thatched roof.

  “That would have been repaired, I daresay, if all this hadn’t happened,” said Myra.

  “Who is supposed to keep them in order?”

  “The natives. They are their homes. They look after them themselves.”

  Something urged me to go forward and as I did so a small boy darted up to us. He smiled, his teeth dazzlingly white against his dark skin.

  “Whose home is this?” Myra asked him.

  His smile disappeared. He looked furtively over his shoulder. “No one live here, Missee. Devil man there.”

  “Devil man?” I said.

  “Bad place. Missee no go.”

  “It’s only one of the rondavels that has been left to decay. That’s what’s wrong with it.”

  “Old man live there. He die. No one want place. It bad. Umgala … he not know. He go … he like. He always there. He die …”

  The mention of Umgala startled me. I wanted to go into the rondavel.

  “Let’s just take a look,” I said, and started forward.

  “No … no, Missee.” The boy was really alarmed. “Bad place. Big snakes in grass. Devil’s snakes. They wait … to catch …”

  “We’ll be careful,” I said, and I went forward.

  Myra said: “Perhaps we’d better not …”

  But I was already making my cautious way through the long grass.

  I reached the door, lifted the latch and went in. There was a buzzing noise and a huge insect, which looked like an enormous dragonfly, cruised across the rondavel and settled on a small bench.

  “Let’s go!” said Myra. “We don’t want to get stung.”

  But something held me there. Under the bench was a rough drawer and below it on the earth floor I noticed wood shavings and splinters of wood.

  I went across the room. The insect was still perched on the bench. Keeping my eyes on it I opened the drawer. I had to shake it to get it open and when I did so I saw several carved figures, among them that one which I had seen lying at the bottom of the staircase in the Model House.

  I turned to Myra who was standing in the doorway.

  “Come away!” she cried. “I don’t like this.”

  I said slowly: “That boy … he said Umgala came here … no one else did. He was often here … before he was murdered.”

  Myra said: “I’m going. It’s horrible here …”

  I followed her. She was already pushing her way through the long grass.

  “Myra,” I said. “Myra, it was Umgala …”

  At that mome
nt we saw the snake. It had risen and was close to us. It hissed ominously. It had been lurking in the grass.

  Evading it, I ran after Myra. I think we were lucky in seeing it in time.

  We had reached the clearing. We stopped, panting. I turned to look behind us. There was no sign of the snake.

  Myra was trembling. I put an arm round her. “It’s all right now,” I said. “It’s back there in the grass.” And all I could think of was: Umgala made the figures … and Umgala was murdered. This was a momentous discovery. I was bemused, bewildered. Ideas were jostling each other in my mind. I felt I must not mention my discovery to Myra. I wanted to talk it over with Lilias first.

  Myra was clinging to me.

  “It was awful … that horrible thing in the grass. It was waiting there for us … while we were in that place … it was there in the grass … waiting for us. I didn’t want to go there. I knew there was something dreadful about it. I hate these places. Diana, I want to go home.”

  I knew that by “home” she did not mean Riebeeck. She wanted to be in Lakemere.

  “You’ll feel better after a rest,” I said, calming her and myself at the same time. But I was not really thinking of her but of that boy who was the carver of the figures and who had died because of them.

  Mrs. Prost was coming across the lawn.

  “Oh, good afternoon, Miss Grey. Mrs. Lestrange, you look as if you’ve seen a ghost.”

  “We’ve seen a snake,” I said.

  “Nasty beggars.”

  “It was close to us,” said Myra. “It was lurking in the grass. It hissed at us.”

  “What sort of snake?”

  “I don’t know. It was big. We just thought of getting away.”

  “Quite right, too.”

  She came with us into the house.

  “A nice cup of tea’s what’s wanted now,” she said. “There’s none left. It’s come to a pretty pass when you can’t have a cup of tea when you want one.”

  I wanted to get away. I desperately wanted to talk to Lilias.

  “You ought to have a lie down, Mrs. Lestrange,” said Mrs. Prost. “You look all shaken up.”

  “I think that’s a good idea, Myra.”

  She agreed. So I said goodbye to her and prepared to leave. But as I came out of her room Mrs. Prost was waiting for me.