by Peg Kingman
The stable block looked like any well-built stable block associated with any prosperous mansion in any county in Britain, with velvety, well-fenced pastures and roomy paddocks stretching away on the far side. But the horses! Some of them were horses, in the usual horse colours, various shades of gold, brown, black, and gray. But these others! A little herd of zebra mares and foals grazed at the far end of the largest pasture. They raised their large heads as the walkers approached, and pricked up their large ears—not neatly pointed like horses’ ears but round and fringed, like furred funnels. The smallest foals moved behind their mothers. Then one of the mares barked, a harsh, strange challenge like the barking of a hoarse-voiced dog, and another answered.
“Look, Grace, stripey horses!” cried Mrs Todd. “What lovely stripes they have! What lovely black muzzles, like velvet. And the babies! Oh, the babies! Are they tame at all?”
“Oh, far from it,” said Lady Charles. “They are just the wildest things. They will not be tamed.”
“Even the babies, if they are raised by hand and fed from a bottle?”
“We have hand-raised at least a dozen. They are docile enough when young, but as they mature it becomes increasingly difficult, even dangerous, to handle them. Nevertheless, Lord Charles has high hopes for some of his yearlings. And he has got the coachman working with several three year olds, getting them broken to harness. Quite likely we shall be in time to see them working; they generally train in the evenings at this season, after the heat of the day is past.”
And so it was. Their little party came around the corner of the buildings into the large yard, to see a strange sight. In heavy chain cross ties between two stout pillars stood a stocky full-grown young zebra, a handsome gelding. He stood shifting his weight, rocking oddly forward and back like a rocking horse, for a pair of hobbles bound his forelegs and another pair bound his hind legs. There was a stout iron muzzle strapped over his black velvet mouth, and a blindfold tied over his eyes. His groom, a tall broad-shouldered young Boer, carried a tangle of harness from the carriage house and hung it nearby, keeping a wary eye on the zebra.
The head coachman directing these operations nodded to Lady Charles and her party, but his full attention was for the zebra, which had somehow sensed their arrival; his head jerked up, his funnel-like ears pointed unerringly at them; they could hear him snuffling the air through the muzzle. In a moment, another groom led out a horse, an ordinary brown cob, who was put in cross ties at another pair of pillars across the yard. The cob, a sedate old creature, wore neither hobbles nor muzzle nor blindfold, and he stood at his ease, one hip cocked.
“Should you like to stay and watch?” whispered Lady Charles to them. Mrs Todd silently nodded yes, certainly; Catherine and Grace glanced at each other but said nothing.
The old cob was soon bridled and harnessed. He stood contemplating the situation with the lines and traces doubled up and tucked out of the way over his haunches while peaceably chewing his bit.
Then it was the zebra’s turn. Both grooms approached him warily from either side, avoiding the perilous zones directly before and behind, where he could strike despite the hobbles. The coachman directed them tersely from a safe distance. The zebra laid his ears back flat as he sensed the grooms’ approach, but they managed to buckle the collar around his thick neck, then strap on the hames, ease the saddle with its turrets into place, and gingerly fasten the belly strap. Positioning the crupper was a most ticklish operation which had to be undertaken from the side. Despite the hobbles, the young Boer had his foot painfully trampled before the crupper was buckled home. Fortunately the zebra was unshod, for what farrier could shoe such a creature?
Last was the bridle. The elder groom unbuckled the iron muzzle; as he slipped it off, the zebra lunged, his black velvet mouth open to bite and bite hard. The young Boer forestalled him with the bit, perfectly positioned to slip between his teeth, and the headstall over his ears, and over the strong halter, which they certainly did not dare to remove. The elder groom deftly slipped the iron muzzle back into position, and the two of them refastened it over the zebra’s now-bitted mouth. He chewed angrily on the bit, salivating copiously; then, coiling back onto his haunches, he lashed forward with his hobbled front hooves. Blindfolded, he struck only air; and the groom punched him twice in the jaw with his fist. Furious but chastened, the zebra stood still while they ran the lines through the turrets, and the strapping young groom nursed his knuckles.
“But what if you were to use one of your hand-raised youngsters instead of this wild creature?” whispered Mrs Todd to Lady Charles.
“This is one of our hand-raised youngsters. And gelded at the age of eight months!” whispered Lady Charles.
“Oh, my!” said Mrs Todd.
“Grace and I will walk back to the house, Lady Charles,” whispered Catherine.
“Oh! Will you not stay and watch? When he settles down, we might even have a little drive,” murmured Lady Charles, but Catherine shook her head, smiling to reassure her hostess; and she took Grace away.
“Look, Grace,” said Catherine as they walked back down the handsome avenue toward the house. “See the egrets out there in the pastures? I suppose they are hunting little frogs and snails, but I always think they look like hunchbacked angels, drooping there in the fields.”
“You need not hurry me away from such sights, Catriona,” said Grace.
“What sights?”
“Oh, horses and harnesses and carriages and that sort of thing. They’re going to have a wreck, I daresay. That zebra will wreck them if he can.”
“It’s not a thing I want to see myself,” said Catherine.
But when they heard the clatter in the stableyard behind them, they could not help but turn and watch. The heavy training brake swung out of the yard, taking the first corner at a hectic pace. The zebra was hitched on the near side, and the brown cob off. The two grooms were clinging to their perch behind like piglets at a sow. The coachman had a tight grip on the lines and on his whip, and even at this distance there could be discerned a grim set to his shoulders. The brake made for one of the carriage tracks that led up into the hills surrounding the pastures. “Uphill first, to tire them out and settle them down, I suppose,” said Catherine.
But at the beginning of the incline, at a tricky spot between a bank and a ditch, where the old veteran leaned into his collar and dug into his work, the zebra balked and shirked instead. The coachman gave him a brisk word and a touch with the whip. The zebra resented it extremely, and did not mind who knew; but he plunged forward a few yards before balking again, to the annoyance of his harness mate, who now laid back his ears. Again the coachman rebuked him, more harshly this time, and touched him with the whip. At this the zebra reared, pawing the air in front of him. Everyone leaned forward. The coachman lashed him hard—one, two, three—on both sides of the neck, and shouted, but the beast would not go forward. He bounced down for a moment, only to rear again, higher this time, head back, higher and higher, until he toppled straight over backward, quite deliberately, or so it seemed. He landed with a heavy crash against the dashboard of the brake, then rolled off to the left, bringing down the bay cob, too, in a tangle of leather, iron and splintered wood, and overturning the brake into the ditch.
The two grooms had leapt off their step as the zebra fell. Instantly the burlier of them darted into the wreck and sat heavily on the zebra’s head, immobilizing him. The older groom got to the brown cob and held his bridle, wary of the zebra’s threshing hooves, while the coachman slashed with a stout knife at the cob’s traces to free him. The traces were made of several layers of the strongest, thickest leather and did not part easily, but after a few moments the cob was freed and, at the command of his groom, heaved himself to his feet. He was led off to one side, limping heavily on the near fore.
The heavy groom on the zebra’s head had taken off his waistcoat and used it to cover the animal’s eyes. He was bent over the zebra’s fringed ear, perhaps speaking soothing words or
, more likely, a virulent stream of Dutch curses. Every so often the zebra would try to raise himself, but with his heavy head pinned to the dirt he was unable to heave himself over and get his feet under him. Still, he tried.
At this very inconvenient moment, another wagon appeared at the crest of the hill and came clattering down toward them at a good pace, its sweating horses sitting back solidly against their breechings and the driver leaning on his drag as much as he dared.
“Isn’t that the shooting car?” said Catherine. It was, certainly; and it was to have stayed out until tomorrow. The driver drew up his horses, halting them a hundred yards from the wrecked training brake, and several of the passengers leapt out and cautiously approached the downed zebra. Hector and Lord Charles were among them, Catherine saw. Between them they succeeded in getting three of the zebra’s legs leashed, then cutting its traces. The Boer got off the zebra’s head, and the animal lunged to its feet, the waistcoat falling free. It made as if to dash away, nearly pulling Hector off his feet, but was brought up short by the reins and the tethers on its legs. The zebra stumbled but scrambled up again, both knees torn open now and bleeding. Warily the Boer approached the trembling animal and succeeded at last in getting his waistcoat over its eyes again, this time tying it securely.
At last the two animals, both lame, were led off to the stables by the grooms. The other men righted the shattered training brake and pushed it clear of the track to make room for the wagon to pass. Catherine and Grace saw now that Lady Charles and Mrs Todd had cautiously approached, too, as unsure as themselves whether to try to help or to stay out of the way. Now, at a gesture from Lord Charles, Lady Charles hurried forward. He addressed a few quiet words to her, with a nod at the cargo area of the wagon, and her hand went to her mouth. Catherine now noticed for the first time a long, linen-wrapped bundle laid out flat in the back of the wagon and secured by leather luggage straps. And where were Mr Todd and Dr Macpherson?
It fell to Catherine to comfort the new widow. Catherine sat at Mrs Todd’s bedside, in a room darkened as though for fever, and orchestrated the bringing of broth, and of wine—iced Constantia laced with laudanum. She held Mrs Todd’s hand, and gave her fresh handkerchiefs, and stroked her hair back from her forehead. Eventually, as Mrs Todd began to think of questions, Catherine answered them as gently as she could, drawing on what little Hector had been able to tell her.
“Oh, I so feared an accident when he drove off this morning,” said Mrs Todd. “I have had a feeling of dread all day long, a fearful sense of foreboding. You must have noticed that I was not myself today; indeed I was not, not at all, though I tried to conceal my fears. Oh, Mrs MacDonald; it was an accident, I suppose? A terrible, terrible accident?”
“Most terrible indeed.”
“But an accident? Or, or…?”
“No one saw it, my dear; it happened in one of the hunting blinds set up along the riverbank, and Mr Todd’s bearer was not with him just then.”
“Oh, but couldn’t they have been kept apart? Your brother and Mr Sinclair and Mr Fleming all knew of the bad feeling between them. Why, oh why, would the two of them be sent off to the same blind, alone together? I do not understand…”
“They had been taken out to separate blinds, each accompanied by a native bearer, quite a considerable distance apart, my brother says, along the riverbank where the springbok come down to drink in the evening.”
“He was so tender to me this morning at our parting! Oh, our last, last sweet parting. He had not lately been…well, Mrs MacDonald, not always quite so gentle, not quite so patient as, as formerly. But this morning! His last, sacred kiss! I shall always treasure the memory. Ah, extinguished! I cannot bear it.” Mrs Todd broke down again, sobbing, with her handkerchief over her face, and Catherine held her hand, patting it. After a moment or two, Mrs Todd mastered herself, and her sobs subsided. “Oh, forgive me, Mrs MacDonald. Don’t leave me, pray don’t leave me alone.”
“No, no, I will stay with you. As long as you like, my dear.”
“But, oh! I cannot bear it. How does one bear it? Oh, Mrs MacDonald, you have borne it yourself. How does one bear it?”
“Come, my dear, have another sip of the wine. It can do you no harm.”
Obediently Mrs Todd drank down the wine. “But, but, I do not see how…how could they have encountered each other then? Do you say that these two blinds were within rifle shot of each other? There was an…an accidental discharge?”
“No, the blinds are separated, I understand, by a large outcropping of rock, where the river makes a sharp bend around them, and they communicate only by a narrow path cut into the bank below the curving rock face. It is thought that one of them for some reason left his own blind and, making his way along this path, approached the other.”
“And was mistakenly fired upon, for game?”
“Oh, it is not at all clear what happened, my dear. Come, you must not torture yourself with these painful speculations. A little more wine.”
Mrs Todd drank what was offered to her. Her blank gaze rested upon Mr Todd’s portmanteau, lying open against the far wall. “It was when I saw, this morning, that he had taken all his money that the dread came upon me,” she murmured quietly. “And then his farewell was so much kinder than usual, quite his old cheerful self, as he used to be.” She held out the glass for more wine, and Catherine refilled it for her. “It was no accident, was it?” she said after a few moments.
Slowly, Catherine shook her head; no, it had been no accident.
“And it was Mr Todd who went along the path to Dr Macpherson’s blind?”
“Just so. He was found there, inside, but too late, of course. It must have been over very quickly, my dear. He did not suffer.”
“And the doctor?”
“Gone. Into the bush, they suppose, probably making his way toward the eastern frontier. Lord Charles sent one of the trackers after him, but only to follow him so as not to lose him. They will go after him with several men and fetch him back to appear before the magistrate.”
“Gone. Run away. Lost his nerve.”
“It will make it much harder for the doctor to plead self-defense or accident, certainly. Affair of honour or anything of that sort.”
“Oh! Honour!” cried Mrs Todd, and her face screwed up painfully, not pretty now but distorted and blotchy. “Honour! What do I care for honour! Is a woman to cherish last words about honour? What of love? It was nothing but pride, Mrs MacDonald, merest pride, mere self-love. It always was with him. And what did he care for my honour! And now he has fallen after all, defeated after all by that terrible man, that doctor, and left me behind with nowhere at all in the world to go. And with child! And me not even a proper widow!”
Having said this, she focused with some difficulty on Catherine’s face, as though to judge the effect of her words. This time she refilled the glass for herself, sloppily. “Did you hear me? Did you hear what I said?” she demanded.
“Aye,” replied Catherine.
“Not even a proper widow. He promised to carry me over the border to Gretna Green, where we could be married straightaway. Straightaway, he said! Oh, such a man for the promises! But then, the bridge was washed out…and we could not get there…. There was one difficulty after another, one delay after another.”
“But you could have been married anywhere in Scotland, you know; not only at Gretna Green,” said Catherine.
“Is it so? Anywhere? Perhaps he did not know. Or…perhaps he did. After a while it did not seem to matter very much. ‘Mrs Todd,’ he called me, before others, before all of you. His little joke. Very amusing, for him. He promised to look after me. ‘As long as I live, my heart is your own, I swear it.’ That’s what he said to me. ‘As long as I live’! And do you know, it was the truth, wasn’t it! For once, he was telling the truth!” She closed her eyes and lay back against her pillows, still holding her glass, empty again. After a few moments she began to snore gently, and Catherine breathed out a long sigh. Tactfully she
eased the empty glass from Mrs Todd’s plump curled fingers and set it on the little table beside the bed.
With a hiccup, Mrs Todd came awake again. Her eyes flew open, and she said, “And he did take care of me, in his way. He was kind of me, careful of me. He was glad about the child, he said. Once he knew the infection was upon him, after Porto Praya, he did not touch me. But, oh, that doctor! He refused to call in that doctor, and only dosed himself as well as he could, and it did prey on his mind that if the infection were not quickly cured, it might lead to some permanent harm. He intended to consult some medical person at the Cape. When are we to arrive at the Cape, do you know?”
“This is the Cape; we are here,” said Catherine.
“Ha ha! I had forgotten! So we are! Here we are at the Cape after all! And no medical person to be consulted! Ha ha!” And with this, Mrs Todd’s eyelids closed again, and her mouth gently dropped open.
15
quite opposite to the Original Design
As Increase sailed clear of the channel leading out of Table Bay below Cape Town, Hector was peering back over her stern at the small boats fishing in the rich shallows just outside the channel. They fished close in under the headlands, where the wind came in gusts and bursts. He saw a small boat knocked down by the force of a strong invisible downdraft pouring over the cliff from above. The little boat in question was carried clear of the perilous spot by an impetuous current and was righted by its crew. But the next boat to pass the same place was nearly knocked down too, in just the same way. Hector watched until the little fishing boats could no longer be discerned, and Increase had set all her sails to ride the steady force of an exuberant wind driving across the open sea—toward India.