Shadows in the Grass

by Beverley Harper

  ‘I beg your pardon?’ Dallas actually took a step backwards, so surprised was he at her verbal outburst.

  ‘You are a cad, sir.’ Mrs Watson nearly shouted the words. ‘That poor wee girl left alone to cry herself sick. The shame of it. How dare you walk back in here as if nothing ever happened?’

  ‘Mrs Watson, I –’

  ‘You’ll not set foot in this house, sir, until I hear it from your own lips that you intend to do the honourable thing.’

  ‘Honourable . . . what . . .’ Dallas took a deep breath. ‘I haven’t the faintest idea what you’re talking about.’

  A bellow from within the house was so loud and full of fury it made Dallas jump. The squat, burly figure of Mr Wilcox was the last thing he expected to see, especially hurtling down the hall towards him with nothing short of murder his clear intention. ‘I’ll kill you with my bare hands, you damned Bluebeard. Vile seducer. You are an abomination, sir.’ Mr Wilcox stopped next to Mrs Watson, panting with rage. ‘I demand to know your intentions.’

  ‘About what?’

  Mr Wilcox, who was already a very unhealthy shade of red, went puce. ‘My daughter, you ruiner of women. Sarah. I demand that you marry her as quickly as possible.’

  ‘Sarah?’ Dallas was still trying to work out what was going on. ‘What on earth are you talking about?’

  Mrs Watson tossed her head. ‘Well, really, Mr Granger, I expected more from you than this.’

  Mr Wilcox turned to Mabel, who was hovering, wide-eyed, nearby. ‘Tell my daughter that her worthless lover has returned. She is to come downstairs immediately.’ He looked at Mrs Watson. ‘If you don’t mind, madam, I would appreciate a few private minutes with the two of them.’

  ‘Of course, Mr Wilcox.’

  With a final look of disgust thrown at Dallas, Mrs Watson disappeared into the kitchen.

  ‘Inside,’ snapped Mr Wilcox.

  Dallas followed him into the drawing room. The visibly perspiring man flung himself into a chair then, just as quickly rose and began to pace. ‘I suppose you’re going to deny seducing my daughter?’

  ‘Seducing . . .’

  ‘Seducing, sir. She is with child.’

  ‘I . . .’

  ‘You took advantage of an innocent young girl in her hour of need. You, who had been charged with her safe return. You . . .’ Mr Wilcox was spluttering so hard he could barely speak. ‘You – profligate. Of all the iniquitous acts of depravity, sir, I have heard of none worse. What do you have to say for yourself?’

  Dallas’s jaw fell at the news that Sarah was carrying a child, supposed, by her father, to be his. ‘This has nothing to do with me, sir. I did not lay a finger on your daughter.’

  His denial only spurred Mr Wilcox to greater fury.

  Dallas cut across the man’s outrage. ‘Ask her. Sarah will confirm my words.’

  ‘Ask her yourself, you corrupter of all things decent.’

  Turning, Dallas saw Sarah hovering in the doorway. ‘Sarah!’

  She ran to him. ‘Oh, my darling. I knew you’d come back.’ Her arms encircled his waist and she buried her face into his chest.

  ‘Sarah!’ Dallas eased the girl away. ‘What . . .?’

  She looked up at him with shining eyes. ‘Now we can be wed, for you promised that you would.’

  ‘There, sir. Wriggle out of that if you can. I demand that you marry my daughter as quickly as possible.’

  ‘Like hell!’ Dallas was suddenly furious. ‘I am not responsible for the child she carries.’

  ‘My daughter is no liar, sir. She’s scarcely more than a child herself. You will marry her, or by God, sir –’

  ‘I want nothing to do with this. I have witnesses to prove that Sarah was returned to your care unsullied by me or anyone else in my party. I will not be forced into marrying her.’

  Mr Wilcox smiled nastily. ‘Oh, I think you will. I have the London Times shipped to me. There’s an interesting story in one of their issues about a Lord Dallas Acheson and a certain Lady de Iongh’s charge against him. The police seek him urgently. There’s a reward for information regarding his whereabouts. The lithograph likeness looks remarkably like you, Mr Dallas Granger. Interesting, don’t you think, that Lord Acheson’s family home is the Grange in Edinburgh?’ Mr Wilcox’s smile turned triumphant. ‘You have two choices, young man. Marry my daughter or be returned to England in chains. What say you?’

  Ignoring him, Dallas turned to Sarah. ‘Will you kindly tell your father the truth.’

  ‘But Dallas . . .’ Tears filled her eyes and her lips trembled. A credible performance by any standards.

  ‘I made no promises and you know full well that the father of your child is not me. Why do you lie?’

  Sarah buried her face in both hands and sobbed.

  ‘Tell the truth, you foolish girl,’ Dallas snapped. ‘For I want no part of this deception.’

  Sarah only sobbed harder.

  ‘Enough, sir. I will not tolerate you bullying my daughter. You, and nobody else, are responsible for her condition, despite your cowardly and ungentlemanly denials. Do you intend to do the honourable thing, sir, or will it be necessary to send for the constabulary?’

  ‘Sarah!’ Dallas beseeched. ‘For the love of God, will you please tell your father the truth.’

  ‘Enough, I say,’ Mr Wilcox roared. ‘You have two choices and two seconds to make one. Which is it to be?’

  Dallas stared at the man, hating him. He was left with little option. Marriage to a girl he didn’t love who was carrying another man’s child, or return to Scotland and the hangman’s rope. ‘Very well. I will marry Sarah. But be warned, sir, my name will be the only thing of mine she carries.’

  He heard Sarah gasp with relief and felt her hand on his arm. It was all Dallas could do not to shake it off.

  Sarah’s father bounced once on his toes and nodded. ‘There is no need for you to stay here further, Sarah. Go and pack. Now that Mr Granger has declared his intentions you can join your mother and me in town, at the hotel.’

  Sarah, head bowed, moved to obey, not looking at Dallas or her father.

  Mr Wilcox crossed the room, hand outstretched, his smile warming, though still calculating. ‘Excellent. Welcome to our family, Dallas. I may call you Dallas, may I not?’ Suddenly jovial, he made no effort to hide his obvious relief.

  Dallas ignored the proffered hand, turned his back and moved to the window, staring out, seeing nothing.

  ‘Come, young man. My daughter is as fine a catch as any. You will have no cause to regret your decision.’

  Dallas spoke coldly. ‘You give me little choice. I find it reprehensible that a father would willingly give his daughter to a man charged with rape. It tells me two things, sir. One, that you do not believe I committed such a crime. And two, you know full well I am not the father of Sarah’s child. You are using a supposed crime against me for your own purpose. Talk of honour is a joke.’

  Behind him, Wilcox began to splutter again.

  ‘Save such false indignation for those who would believe it. You have me cornered. Congratulations. An expeditious solution to the quandary in which your daughter has placed you. I don’t imagine Sarah came up with this answer on her own, though her willingness to participate says little for her character. I have no love for your daughter and never will. Do not expect me to live and work alongside either of you. I intend to carry on trading.’

  ‘But Sarah cannot be left on her own,’ Wilcox objected.

  Dallas still did not turn. ‘Take her to Colenso. Do whatever you please. Frankly, I don’t care. Two weeks from now I leave for the midlands with no expectation of returning for six months.’

  ‘You cannot treat my daughter thus,’ Wilcox shouted. ‘She deserves the respect of her husband.’

  ‘Do not tempt me to tell you what Sarah deserves.’ Dallas spun back to face his future father-in-law. ‘Damn you to hell, Wilcox. You and your conniving daughter.’ Dallas strode from the room.

  He al
most collided with Mrs Watson, who hurriedly straightened up from where she had been listening outside the door.

  ‘I’m certain you heard all that, madam.’

  She was flustered but managed to say, ‘Congratulations, Mr Granger. If you’ll wait a moment, I have some letters for you.’

  There were three. Without even glancing at them, Dallas stuffed the envelopes in a pocket, and left. At the gate, he swung onto Tosca and pushed her hard back into town. He needed a drink. In fact, he intended to get blind, stinking, falling-down drunk.

  Dallas Granger married Sarah Wilcox six days later in a quiet civil ceremony with no guests other than her parents and Mrs Watson. Logan offered to be best man but Dallas curtly told him the term was inappropriate considering the circumstances.

  ‘Are you sure, old boy, that you didn’t –’

  ‘I’m reasonably certain I’d have remembered,’ Dallas said bluntly.

  ‘Then why not refuse?’

  ‘I can’t.’

  Logan stared at him. ‘You’re being blackmailed?’

  ‘Precisely.’

  ‘I won’t ask –’

  ‘Don’t.’

  The subject was dropped. Logan took the first wagon to be ready for use and headed north a day before the wedding.

  Despite the circumstances, Sarah wore a white gown for the ceremony, which only served to emphasise her thickening waist. In fact, though knowing little of such things, Dallas thought the birth more imminent than her stated four months would indicate. Their wedding present from her parents was a modest house three doors distant from Mrs Watson, who promised to look in on Sarah while Dallas was away. Sarah’s father had bought the place as an investment, intending to put in a caretaker landlady and run the establishment as a boarding house. Dallas barely acknowledged his new father-in-law’s generosity, feeling that the house was just one more link in his heavy chain of captivity.

  On their wedding night, alone together for the first time, he and Sarah finally spoke of the situation in which they found themselves. It came as no surprise to Dallas to learn that his new bride was as disenchanted with the arrangement as he. Dominated by her father to the extent that she was totally in awe of him, Sarah admitted that she’d simply allowed him to take control of her situation.

  ‘No more secrets between us, Sarah. How far gone are you?’

  ‘Seven months,’ she whispered.

  ‘So you knew you were pregnant when I took you home to Colenso?’

  ‘I suspected.’

  ‘Why did you not marry the father?’

  ‘I couldn’t. Father forbade it. Anyway, it would have been impossible. He –’

  Dallas held up a hand. ‘I have no interest in his identity. I daresay your dear father thought him beneath you.’

  Tears filled her eyes.

  ‘Are you in love with him?’

  She bowed her head, unwilling to meet his gaze. Dark ringlets bobbed as she nodded.

  Dallas let out a deep breath and groaned. ‘Oh, Sarah! How could you agree to this marriage? You’ve made a mess of both our lives. I don’t love you and you don’t love me. Wasn’t it enough that you ruined your own life? Why did you have to destroy mine too?’

  ‘Father –’

  ‘To hell with your father. Don’t speak to me of that damnable man. I cannot abide him. He’s bullied and blackmailed to get his own way, with no thought of anyone’s satisfaction but his own. He may be your father, Sarah, but when I am here the man is not welcome in this house. I never wish to see him again.’

  Sarah rose, crossed the room and sank down at Dallas’s feet. ‘I’m sorry. Forgive me. I’ll try to be a good wife.’

  Black despair settled on Dallas and he buried his face in both hands. Lorna’s letter, one of the three given to him by Mrs Watson and which he had carried since then, should have filled him with joy. Looking at Sarah, he pulled the envelope from his pocket and waved it in her face. ‘This is the woman I love. But for you, we would soon be wed. You have ruined my life. Go to bed, Sarah.’

  She bit her lip then burst out, ‘What about me? You are not the only one wronged. I am unhappy too.’

  Dallas rose. ‘Then, my dear,’ he said cuttingly, anger making him cruel, ‘perhaps you should have kept your legs together.’

  Sarah gasped as though physically struck.

  Remorse hit Dallas immediately. ‘I apologise. That was unforgivable.’

  She struggled to rise and he bent to help. Facing him, Sarah’s eyes were steady. ‘I know you are angry. I understand. I’m sorry. But, Dallas, many marry without love and still find happiness.’

  ‘True,’ he conceded. ‘Love is often absent from a union. Then, too, so is deceit.’

  ‘You are determined to hate me even though I offer to meet you halfway?’

  Suddenly he felt weary. ‘Perhaps in time, Sarah, but not yet. I cannot pretend that which is not there.’

  She nodded slowly. ‘Then can we at least try to remain civil?’

  Dallas frowned. She was trying hard, perhaps too hard. He remembered how she had flirted with him on the journey between Howick Falls and Colenso. A woman pregnant to a man she claims to love does not flirt with another unless . . . He spoke slowly, feeling his way. ‘You are not in love with the father of this child, are you? I conveniently came along and provided a perfect way out. You told your father I’d seduced you. It was all your idea. That’s the truth, isn’t it, Sarah? Whether he believes it I cannot say. I suspect not.’

  The look on her face gave him the answer.

  ‘You’re no better than your father. Don’t speak of civility between us, it cannot be. I do not trust you.’

  ‘Dallas!’ Her hands stretched out imploringly. ‘I fell in love with you.’

  ‘Love?’ Derision was strong in his voice. ‘You don’t know what it means.’ He turned his back. ‘Go to bed, Sarah. It’s been a difficult day. No more lies. Just go.’

  The voice behind him was small. ‘Will you come too?’

  Dallas nearly snorted in disbelief. ‘No. I’ll sleep in the other room.’

  Sarah persisted. ‘If you wanted to, I wouldn’t mind.’

  ‘I don’t want to. Go to bed.’

  She turned and left without another word. Alone, Dallas opened Lorna’s letter and read it for perhaps the hundredth time:

  My dear Dallas,

  Yesterday, during a visit to Edinburgh, I paid my compliments to your mother. Naturally, Lady Pamela would not divulge news of you and I refrained from placing her in a difficult situation by asking. I could not help, however, noticing a half-written letter on her escritoire and, whilst she was absent from the room, saw it was addressed to you. Yours to her lay underneath and, I confess, it was irresistible for me not to take a peek.

  So much more is clear, my dear. I believed you had betrayed me. In a way, you had, and I find myself undecided as to the extent I can forgive you. I do know, however, that my love for you matches that which you profess for me. And so, I sit here now at Canongate urgently penning these words to you.

  Lorna’s letter was dated almost four months ago. It went on:

  Mama’s accusations are nothing more than a tissue of lies. I know you are incapable of such foul actions. It is your duplicity which vexes and torments me. I try so hard to understand that men are different but, Dallas, how could you? It is this that keeps me unsure. Do you truly love me? If you do, can I allow what is past to come between us? Is my love strong enough to forgive and forget? Were it not for both our circumstances, would you have continued the affaire de coeur with Mama?

  I have good reasons to ask. You may reply to my Dumfries address knowing anything you write will remain between us. My marriage has proved to be a farce and it is news of this that behoves me to write to you for I do believe that you should know the truth.

  Lord Dumfries suffered a stroke. He now hovers between life and death with little hope of recovery. My dear, he was struck down before making any demand to consummate our marriage. Our chi
ld grows strong within me. Soon my condition will begin to show. While my husband will know it cannot possibly be his, he is incapable of speech or indeed movement. No-one will guess and our son (for I am convinced it’s a boy) will inherit all.

  I know it is impossible that you return to Scotland, but on the demise of Dumfries there is no reason why I should not travel to Africa where we can be together at last.

  You will be pleased to learn that Father has agreed to allow Charles and Charlotte to marry. I do believe that in his heart of hearts, Papa does not think you capable of the charges he was forced to lay against you. I’m afraid, however, that pride will never allow him to drop them.

  Please reply as soon as you can. Until there is contact between us we cannot begin to rebuild the trust which we once enjoyed. I would appreciate total honesty, Dallas, whether it be good news or bad.

  Until then, I remain,

  Faithfully yours.

  Lorna

  The letter should have filled Dallas with the purest happiness. Instead, he was consumed with despair. What could he say? That he loved her but had been blackmailed into a marriage he didn’t want? She’d never believe him, not after his past deceit. He could not lie – he owed her the total honesty she’d asked for. Did he have the strength to say he was happily married now and that Lorna and their child were a thing of the past? No, he couldn’t do that either. Did he just ignore the letter? How? That wasn’t fair. And, oh God, how he ached to see her again.

  Dallas Granger spent his wedding night in deep contemplation of a wine decanter which, for some unaccountable reason, seemed to require regular refilling. By the time he fell into bed he was, to his intense satisfaction, as drunk as a lord.

  Ten days later, Dallas set off again for the Thukela Valley. Logan, he thought, would be well into Zululand by now, having taken the quicker coast road. Of Will there had been no sign, although Dallas did hear he’d gone south as planned. Mister David, good as his word, had been waiting at Cato’s store. Tobacco and July also opted to go with Dallas. With two wagons, a second team was needed. Having learned his lesson the hard way, those employed were all Zulus.