Shadows in the Grass

by Beverley Harper

  ‘What about them?’ Dallas found himself irritated.

  Boyd shrugged carelessly. ‘Time they were taught a lesson.’

  He was spouting army rhetoric, repeating words like a performing parrot. Dallas supposed his brother was no different from other new arrivals. Why waste energy arguing with him? Boyd’s bland acceptance of the status quo would most likely change once he’d seen the ‘damned savages’ in action. First his brother would have to shake off the arrogant belief that anything that wasn’t British was simply not good enough. Realising he was staring, Dallas cleared his throat. ‘Ulundi has to be taken but the Zulus are effectively defeated. I daresay you’ll see action, if that is what you wish.’

  ‘Well, yes, old boy, of course it is. We’re heading north in a few days.’

  ‘Good for you.’

  The heavy irony was lost on Boyd. ‘Where were you?’

  ‘Kambula and Hlobane.’

  His brother was envious. ‘Lucky devil.’

  ‘Lucky!’ Impatient to see Lorna and preferring to greet his children than make conversation with a brother who saw action as an adventure, Dallas allowed his feelings to show. ‘There’s nothing lucky about mowing down a magnificent force of fighting men armed only with shields and spears. The Zulus didn’t stand a chance.’

  ‘They did well enough at Isandlwana.’

  ‘Only because the British were stupid enough to think they were superior. They’re not. Only their weapons are.’

  Boyd looked surprised. ‘Careful, old chap. That’s treason you’re talking.’

  Dallas glanced towards the house. ‘Where’s Lorna?’

  ‘Upstairs, at a guess. The little fellow isn’t too well.’

  ‘Duncan! What’s wrong with him?’

  ‘He’s been sick for five days,’ Cam told him. ‘Mama has sent for the doctor several times.’

  Dallas was suddenly, unreasonably angry. All he wanted was to be at home with his family. He didn’t want his youngest son to be ill, his wife distracted, or his brother waffling on about the excitement of war. ‘Where’s the groom?’

  ‘You don’t seem to have one, old chap.’

  ‘I’ll take Tosca,’ Cam offered. ‘Mister David is still away.’

  Dallas nodded. It came as no surprise that Cetshwayo was reaching deep inside Natal for Zulu recruits.

  ‘Here one day, gone the next,’ Boyd put in, not understanding. ‘Unreliable lot.’

  Dallas’s anger was reaching the explosive stage. With difficulty, he managed to control it. Boyd was, after all, his brother. ‘Unreliable?’ he queried. ‘On the contrary.’ His voice was harsher than intended. ‘When the king calls he can rely on a full and immediate response.’

  ‘The king?’ Boyd’s handsome face showed incomprehension.

  ‘Cetshwayo,’ Dallas said shortly.

  ‘Oh, him.’ Boyd dismissed the Zulus’ ruler with the wave of a hand.

  With sudden clarity, Dallas realised what was making him angry. Had he stayed in Scotland, he would most probably be exactly like Boyd. His brother had brought with him a shadow of the past that had no place in his life now. Dallas had moved beyond the mindless say-and-do formality of European society, thanks in no small part to the Zulu way of life. He turned to go. ‘If you don’t mind, I’d like to see Lorna.’

  ‘And she’s changed too,’ Boyd went on, insensitive to Dallas’s need to be with her. ‘Just like her mother, if you ask me.’

  Glancing at his brother, Dallas could see he had absolutely no understanding of, or willingness to accept, any kind of life outside a learned code of socially acceptable behaviour. His loss. Gently, Dallas put Kate down and she grabbed Boyd’s proffered hand. Dallas turned and walked towards the house.

  Percy greeted him in Zulu. With tears on his cheeks, he spoke. ‘It is said that our impi are defeated.’

  Dallas closed his eyes. He was weary. He wanted Lorna. ‘They are still strong,’ he responded gently. ‘But in their hearts many are losing hope.’

  ‘Why do you want war? What have we done?’

  Percy’s question was probably on every Zulu’s lips. ‘Why does the Zulu fight?’ Dallas asked by way of answer. ‘Is it not to gain cattle or land? Is it not to keep the enemy from getting too close? The British are no different.’

  Percy bowed his head. When he looked up, his eyes were clear of moisture. ‘It is so. Forgive me, master, for I am deeply troubled by our losses.’

  Dallas knew he was speaking of land, rather than life. ‘You have not lost anything, old man. It is still there but the time has come to share it.’

  ‘Share!’ Contempt shone briefly from Percy’s eyes. ‘The Zulu does not know this word. He conquers or is defeated. That is our way.’

  ‘I know.’ Dallas was full of understanding. This man had probably fought more tribal wars than most and, in his breast, beat a heart filled with such pride that death would be preferable to defeat.

  ‘Are we a lost people?’ Percy queried.

  Dallas owed him the truth. ‘What did your great King Shaka say? “ . . . You will not rule when I am gone, for the land will see locusts and white men come.” I fear his words are true. The old days may be gone but your nation is established. Nobody can take that from you.’

  ‘And what of now?’

  ‘Now you taste the bitterness that Shaka fed to his enemies.’

  ‘Then there is still a place for his people?’

  ‘Yes, and always will be.’

  ‘You understand,’ Percy said slowly. ‘Where others would cry in outrage. You are truly Zulu.’

  Dallas smiled slightly. ‘No. I cannot be one of you. But hear me well. Nothing stands still, old man. It is foolish to expect it to.’

  ‘It would be unwise to believe we are a nation of the past. Many have underestimated us before and paid a heavy price,’ Percy warned and changed the subject. ‘Your youngest son is ill. The fever from mosquito is hot within him.’

  ‘So I understand. I am anxious to see him.’

  ‘I sent my daughters to the veld to sleep naked.’

  ‘Thank you, old man. I appreciate what you have done.’

  Percy turned and shuffled away. ‘I will order hot water for your bath.’

  Going up the stairs, Dallas was deeply touched that, in spite of the war, Percy still cared enough to have his family try to assist Duncan. It was an old tradition, seldom seen these days. During an epidemic of any description, the young girls would leave their homes after dark to meet and sleep out in the open. They wore no clothes but, at daybreak, collected marsh grasses and made long skirts and capes to cover their shoulders and heads. Wearing these they returned home, singing and jumping over the very young children to protect them from becoming sick. The custom, called um Tshopi, had probably been dropped as contact with Europeans made outbreaks of illness more prevalent, revealing the practice’s inadequacies.

  He could hear Lorna speaking softly to Duncan. She sat on the bed in his room, her back to the door. ‘That’s my little man. One more spoonful. Hold your nose and swallow.’

  The medicine was quinine. The taste, as Dallas knew from experience, was terrible. Duncan, not surprisingly, had reached the same conclusion. Dallas moved further into the room. ‘Hello, my darling,’ he said softly.

  Lorna looked round, startled. ‘Dallas,’ she breathed. ‘Oh, thank God!’

  Dallas gazed down at his youngest son. Gaunt and ill, he still had enough strength to wave off the spoon.

  ‘How is he?’

  ‘I’ve been desperately worried but he’s over the worst. We’re getting liquids into him and this morning he took a little porridge. Oh, Dallas, it is so good to see you. Can you stay? Will you be called away again?’

  ‘I don’t think so. The garrison is full to the brim with fresh-faced death-or-glory idiots. Let them mop up.’

  Duncan’s eyes were closing. Lorna rose from beside him. ‘He’ll sleep now. Poor little man.’

  ‘Percy is arranging hot water. Come and s
crub my back.’ Dallas took Lorna’s hand and they went to their room. The look on her face told him that if he tried to hold her, she’d object. He didn’t blame her. Stripping, he could smell his own body odour.

  With a towel around his waist, he watched the tub fill with steaming hot water. It looked so inviting. Percy came in with the last of it.

  ‘Will the master be requiring these clothes?’ he asked, indicating the discarded garments while testing the bathwater with one finger.

  ‘Not those,’ Dallas replied. ‘Burn them.’

  Percy picked up the clothing and held it as far away from himself as possible.

  ‘You can shut the door, too.’ Lowering himself into the tub, he could not prevent a sigh of delicious relief. ‘Ahhhhh!’

  Lorna returned and poured oil into the bath. The steam soon carried the refreshing scent of camphor, thyme and sassafras. She removed his bandages, fussing over the injuries. ‘Was it bad?’ she asked gently.

  ‘The worst thing was knowing the Zulus didn’t stand a chance. They knew it too. Their bravery was incredible.’ He would not be drawn into details of battles and spared her the news of Tobacco’s death.

  She heard him out in silence. Then, her eyes anxious, she asked about Will.

  ‘He’s fine. I left him at Cato’s. Says he’s heading into Swaziland to start a trading store.’

  Lorna looked relieved to learn that their friend was still alive. She busied herself washing Dallas’s hair, cleaned the wounds, then called Percy. ‘Tip this out and bring fresh water, please.’

  Back in the bath, unashamedly enjoying such luxury, Dallas shaved while Lorna leaned on the side, watching him hungrily.

  ‘I missed you,’ she told him huskily.

  He planted a wet, soapy kiss on her lips. ‘And I you.’

  She leaned forward and the kiss lengthened.

  Dallas rose, dripping from the tub and scooped her up in his arms.

  It felt so good to have her close to him. The past weeks slipped away. Desire competed with the need to savour their closeness. Desire won. Later, lying together, a jumble of arms and legs, they remembered Boyd.

  ‘I met my brother downstairs. Is he staying here?’

  ‘As good as. He seems to think he’s in charge.’

  ‘I’m sure you put him right.’

  ‘I tried. Boyd doesn’t seem to listen.’ She frowned a little. ‘Do you think he’s changed?’

  Dallas smiled. ‘We’re the ones who’ve changed.’

  ‘If he calls me “my dear, gentle lady” one more time, I swear, darling, I’ll shred him with my nails.’

  He laughed and hugged her. A wave of happiness washed over him. This was his world. Here he felt completely at ease. Outsiders might interfere but for as long as Lorna and the children were beside him, they could do no harm.

  Lorna snuggled into him. ‘Mmm.’

  ‘What’s that supposed to mean?’ he teased.

  She arched an eyebrow at him. ‘If it needs explanation, sir, forget I mentioned it.’

  He pretended to leer. ‘Give me fifteen minutes.’

  ‘Fifteen! You’re getting old, Dallas.’ Her smile was wicked.

  Before going downstairs they looked in on Duncan. He was sleeping peacefully. Lorna placed two fingers lightly against the baby’s forehead. ‘No fever.’

  ‘He’s very pale,’ Dallas worried.

  Queenie sat in one corner of the room, quietly crocheting. ‘He will get better,’ she told them without looking up. Beside her was a clay pot. Neither Dallas nor Lorna mentioned it but both felt comforted by its presence. Whatever brew the Zulus had mixed for their son, they knew it could only assist in the healing process.

  ‘When he wakes, give him some barley water,’ Lorna told her.

  ‘I have prepared porridge.’

  ‘Good. See if he’ll have some. But he will need a lot of water as well.’

  Arm in arm, they left the room and went downstairs. Boyd was standing in the parlour reading. Every line of his erect body showed disapproval. ‘Where are the children?’ Lorna asked.

  ‘In the kitchen,’ he replied, not looking up from the book. ‘The cook has made bread. Those little ruffians don’t even let it cool down.’

  Lorna laughed and Dallas grinned.

  Boyd closed the book carefully and placed it on a table. ‘I don’t see anything funny about it,’ he said, sounding put out. ‘They need more discipline. They’re little savages. Cameron will not use the bathroom. He . . . urinates wherever he likes. It’s disgusting. Eleanor has begun to copy him. They’re half naked most of the time. Running around barefoot can’t be good for them either. What Mama and Papa would make of them is beyond comprehension.’

  Dallas felt irritation rising inside him but it was Lorna who pounced on Boyd’s criticism. ‘Don’t be such a stuffy old bore,’ she said. ‘They’re the healthiest children in the world.’

  ‘Really!’ Boyd thought he’d found a weakness. ‘I assume you include Duncan in that.’

  ‘Duncan is recovering,’ Lorna responded crisply. ‘Malaria is a fact of life out here.’ She hesitated, then added wickedly, ‘In fact, Boyd, you’re bound to suffer a bout or two in Zululand.’

  He ignored that. ‘If you kept the children covered and amused by indoor games, malaria wouldn’t be a problem.’

  ‘Indeed,’ Lorna agreed. ‘Wouldn’t that be cruel in this beautiful climate?’

  ‘I don’t think you’re listening,’ Boyd said scathingly. ‘Others I’ve met are not so short-sighted with their children. How yours will ever take their place in society is beyond me. They don’t know how to behave.’

  Lorna pretended to yawn, tapping two fingers against her mouth in an elaborate ‘ho hum’ gesture.

  Dallas had heard enough. That his brother disapproved was one thing, that he felt he had every right to openly criticise was quite another. ‘You are welcome to visit our home,’ Dallas told him, ‘but on the condition you respect our private lives. Frankly, Boyd, I don’t give a damn what you think of us.’ He broke off as Percy appeared at the door.

  ‘There is a madam asking to speak with you, sir. And a man who says he is her father.’

  ‘Who is it?’

  Percy looked uncomfortable. ‘The madam is saying she is your wife.’

  ‘Shit!’ Lorna’s expletive wasn’t quiet and Boyd looked at her in horror. She stared right back. ‘Shit!’ she said again. ‘Or would you prefer something more pithy?’

  Boyd had been rendered speechless.

  ‘Show them in,’ Dallas told Percy. ‘Let’s see what brings them here.’

  They heard Mr Wilcox before he entered the room. ‘I will do the talking.’

  ‘Yes, Father.’

  Wilcox strode into the parlour like an aggressive bull mastiff, bandy legs, jaw thrust out, eyes bulging and teeth bared in what passed for a smile. He nodded curtly to Lorna. ‘Madam.’

  Lorna responded in kind. ‘Sir.’

  He stared pointedly at Boyd. Dallas introduced the father and daughter to his brother. He noticed how Sarah kept her eyes demurely down. She’d make a good Zulu, Dallas thought nastily.

  Formalities over, Dallas waited for Wilcox to state his business. The man seemed reluctant. ‘Granger, glad to catch you at home.’

  ‘I’ve returned this very day,’ Dallas responded somewhat bluntly. ‘Would you care for refreshment?’

  ‘No, no. We’ll only stay a moment.’

  Silence descended on the room – the mantle clock sounded loud and monotonous. Finally, Dallas asked, ‘How may I help you, sir?’

  Wilcox would not be drawn. ‘Come, Granger, we’ve had our differences in the past. Can we not bury old hostilities, eh?’

  This was too much. ‘We have no regard for each other, sir. Kindly state the reason for your visit.’

  The jovial facade cracked. Hatred flared briefly in the older man’s eyes. When he spoke, his voice was hard. ‘Is there anywhere we may speak in private?’

  ‘My stud
y.’ Dallas led the way.

  Alone, and with the door shut behind them, it was clear to Dallas that whatever had brought Wilcox was making him exceedingly uncomfortable. He seemed uncharacteristically unsure of himself and plainly didn’t like it. ‘Believe me, Granger, it gives me no pleasure to see you again.’

  ‘The feeling is mutual.’

  ‘Don’t be insolent, you young puppy.’

  ‘This is my home,’ Dallas reminded him. ‘For God’s sake, man, tell me what brings you here and be gone.’

  The blunt rudeness caused Wilcox to suck air between his teeth. He clenched both fists in an effort to remain calm. ‘Do you wish to hear what I have to say?’ he shouted suddenly. ‘I did not come here to be insulted.’

  Yes, but you make it so easy. Dallas did not allow his thoughts to show. He waited for Wilcox to calm down.

  With a sigh, the man stated his reason for the visit. ‘I came here tonight to offer you release from a contract you obviously have no intention of honouring.’

  ‘In return for what?’

  Wilcox glared at him. ‘Upon my honour, sir, your disrespect knows no bounds.’

  ‘Do not speak to me of honour,’ Dallas said cuttingly. ‘You have none. Nor, for that matter, do I respect you. What do you want?’

  ‘You have ruined my daughter’s life. Some compensation should be forthcoming. You are not a rich man, I know that. But the marchioness is very wealthy. What is freedom to marry her worth to you both?’

  The rush of anger nearly overwhelmed Dallas. ‘So,’ he said in a hard voice, ‘divorce has a price. I should have known. What a nasty piece of work you are, Wilcox.’

  Anger darkened the older man’s face. ‘And as for your honour, sir, you and that scarlet woman are the laughing stock of Durban.’

  ‘Lady Lorna is no scarlet woman, you blackmailing bastard.’ Dallas delivered the words with quiet venom. ‘You and you alone forced us into this situation.’

  Under the bluster, Wilcox was a coward. He backed away from outright confrontation. ‘I have no desire to discuss this further,’ he said, pale in the face of Dallas’s anger. ‘I have no reason to like you. You broke my daughter’s heart.’