Snare of Serpents (37 page)

“I shall be interested to see more of Paul.”

“So shall I. I’m sure he’ll be an interesting pupil.”

“I think he might be difficult to get to know. He seems to have some morbid obsession.”

“About what?”

“I’m not sure.”

“I am sure of one thing. You’ll do your best to find out.”

That night I wrote to Ninian Grainger. I told him that Roger Lestrange had paid for a better cabin for us and that I had kept this from Lilias because she would have been so worried about the debt which would have been a great strain on her; so I had let it pass and accepted.

“It was good of him,” I wrote, “and he did not let me know about it until right at the end of the voyage.”

I also told him about the school and our high hopes for it. We liked Kimberley and were getting on well with our pupils’ parents; and the friendship of the Lestranges made us feel we were not so far from home.

“I was surprised to discover that Roger Lestrange was not a native of this place. He apparently came out from England some years ago. He married out here and acquired this really rather fascinating house … and then his wife died. She must have been quite young. The son who I thought was his is his stepson. The boy’s mother must have died soon after the marriage.

“Well, there have been lots of surprises and I expect there are more to come. Mr. Lestrange, with whom we lunched today,
told us that there is a certain unrest in the country, but there is no sign of it here …”

What a lot I was telling him! But I had promised I would tell him the details and I think the visit to Riebeeck House had excited me.

I sealed my letter. I would post it tomorrow.

P
AUL JOINED THE SCHOOL
and Lilias was very pleased. Like all good teachers she was delighted at the prospect of a responsive pupil.

“I wish I had more like him,” she said. “I’d like to give more attention to him. But, of course, before long I daresay he will be going away to school.”

Lilias was very efficient and my position was more or less a sinecure and I was afraid I contributed very little.

The school really resembled one of those village schools of which there were many at home. In isolated villages where there were too few pupils to make a large school possible, they were run by one schoolmistress. Everything depended on her. If she were good then so was the school.

Lilias said that in her early days she had attended such a school and she had found that when she went away to a boarding school she was in advance of the other girls who had been brought up by governesses.

“How I should love to have a big school with several teachers working for me and a hundred pupils! But, for the time being, this will suffice.”

She had wanted to share the salary, but I impressed on her that this was absurd. She did far more work than I did. I was prepared to take nothing at all. My income sufficed. She would not hear of that, so all I could do was insist that she take the larger share of the money. The truth was that she could have run the place very easily by herself.

She was happy and I was delighted to see her so. She dreamed of enlarging the school. But, of course, that was for the future. I realised more than ever that teaching was her vocation and how frustrated she must have been, confined to the domestic affairs of the vicarage. John Dale shared her interest in the school. He was a very frequent visitor. He used to call after school with a bottle of wine and some delicacies and we would talk far into the evening.

One afternoon when Greta Schreiner brought Anna to school she lingered behind to have a word with one of us. I saw her and she asked if we would keep Anna for an extra half an hour when school was over as she would be delayed coming to pick her up. This happened now and then with some of the children, for we would not consider letting any of the little ones go off without their parents. I told Greta that that would be all right.

When school was over Lilias went off to see a parent in the town who was thinking of sending her two children to the school, so I stayed behind with Anna.

We sat at the window watching for Greta to arrive. I tried to interest the child in a game in order to pass the time, but I received little response, and I was rather pleased when I saw Greta hurrying towards the schoolhouse.

Anna went quietly to her mother and I led the way to the door.

“Thank you, Miss Grey,” said Greta. “It was kind of you. I hope I wasn’t too long.”

“Oh no. You’re earlier than I had expected. Well, goodbye, Anna. Goodbye, Mrs. Schreiner.”

I went back into the schoolhouse and as I did so I heard the sound of horse’s hoofs. I went to the window. Roger Lestrange was riding into the courtyard. He pulled up, leaped from his horse and approached Greta Schreiner. They seemed to know each other well by the manner in which he was talking and laughing and she was responding. My thoughts flashed back to the house in Edinburgh and Kitty laughing in the kitchen with Hamish Vosper … and then Kitty in the stables at Lakemere chatting with the grooms. Some people were like that. They blossomed in masculine society. Zillah was another.

I watched them for what must have been five minutes. Roger had turned his attention to Anna. Suddenly he picked her up and held her in the air above him. He was laughing at her. I wondered what solemn little Anna thought of this familiar behaviour. It was not the sort of treatment she would be accustomed to from her puritanical father.

Roger set her down. He put his hand in his pocket and brought out what must have been a coin which he pressed into the child’s hand.

Then a strange thing happened. Piet Schreiner came striding across the courtyard. He must have been lurking close, watching, for he took the coin from Anna’s hand and threw it on the ground at Roger’s feet.

For a moment it seemed as though Greta, Roger and the child were turned to stone. No one spoke; no one moved; then Piet Schreiner seized Greta’s arm and dragged her away, Anna clutching at her hand.

Roger looked at the coin on the ground, shrugged his shoulders and came walking towards the schoolhouse, leading his horse which he tethered to the post there.

He was coming to see us.

When I opened the door he was smiling urbanely and showed no sign that he was in the least ruffled by the little scene in which he had taken part.

I said: “Hello, so you have come to see us?”

“To see
you,
Miss Grey.”

“Is everything all right? Paul …”

“I think Paul is enjoying his new school.”

“I couldn’t help seeing what happened just now.”

“Oh, that pious old fool! It was because I gave the child money.”

“It was so extraordinary.”

“He’s a little mad, I suppose. Religious maniac. He thinks everyone is destined for Hell Fire—except himself.”

“It seemed so amazing … when you have merely been generous to the child.”

He shrugged his shoulders. “I feel sorry for his poor wife.”

“I suppose everyone must be. I thought she seemed very pleased that you were friendly towards her.”

“I’m a friendly person. I can’t tell you how pleased I am about the way things are working out here. Miss Milne is out, isn’t she?”

“How did you know?”

“Ha! I’ll tell you. Mrs. Garton, whom I happen to know, was visiting us yesterday and she was talking about sending her girls to England to school. I pointed out that that was something of an undertaking—particularly as things are now—and while she was waiting why didn’t she send the girls to the school which was really an excellent one since the new ladies had taken it over. I could vouch for that as I was sending Paul there. I said, ‘Why don’t you consult Miss Milne, who is the senior teacher?’ She said, ‘I’ll do that tomorrow.’ I said, ‘I daresay Miss Milne would come and see you when school is over.’ So there you are. That is why I knew I should find you alone.”

I felt a twinge of uneasiness. In spite of his urbanity and obvious desire to help, I felt vaguely suspicious of his motives.

“I expect you are wondering how Paul is getting on with his studies,” I said. “I can tell you that Miss Milne thinks he is very bright. She knows a good deal about children, of course.”

“And you, too.”

“The fact is I am not really needed here. It’s a post for one … at the moment.”

“And you came out because you wanted to get away from England.”

“It seemed an exciting adventure.”

“And you were not very excited by life at home?”

He was looking at me quizzically. What does he know? I was asking myself. I could not quite understand the expression in his eyes. I fancied they were a little mocking. I did not understand this man. In spite of his flattering words and his attitude of gallantry, I felt he was taunting me, and that he knew it had been imperative for me to get away.

I had to turn the conversation away from myself.

“I was surprised to hear that Paul is not your son.”

“Oh … did you not realise that?”

“But … I think you said he was your son. Or that was how I understood it. You spoke of him as though …”

“He is my stepson, but I wanted him to regard me as his father. When I married his mother I felt I had a duty to him.”

“He remembers his father too well to accept someone else, I imagine. Children are faithful, you know.”

“I realise that now.” He smiled at me deprecatingly. “But I shall go on trying.”

“If he had been a little younger,” I said, “it would have been easier. He might have forgotten his father and have been ready to accept you.”

“I know.”

“How old was he when his father died?”

“About five, I think.”

“He’s nine now, isn’t he? It was only four years ago.”

“Yes, it happened rather quickly.”

“You must have married his mother soon after.”

“Well, it was more than a year … eighteen months perhaps.”

“I should imagine the speed of it all was too much for him. At seven his mother dies … and at nine he has not only a stepfather but a stepmother. Oh, I understand how difficult he must find it to adjust to all the changes.”

“I hadn’t thought of it like that. It seems that Margarete has been dead for a long time. Margarete … oh, she was such a sweet and simple girl! She could not deal with everything that had to be done when her first husband died. I helped her with her affairs. She was lonely and I was sorry for her. We slipped into marriage. And then … she died.”

“Was she ill?”

“When she lost her husband she was quite, quite bewildered. She felt she couldn’t cope with life. She was the sort of woman who needs someone to look after her. I did that as best I could. But it had all been a terrible shock for her. She began … well … please don’t mention this to anyone … but she began to drink a little … at first. I suppose she found some solace in that. I did not realise what a hold it was getting on her. She did it secretly, you see. But it was undermining her health, and one morning she was found …”

“Found?”

He turned away, as though to hide his emotion. He reached
for my hand and gripped it hard. Then he said: “Found, at the bottom of the staircase.”

I knew which staircase. I understood now Paul’s obsession with it.

“She had fallen,” he went on. “It was an accident. I was greatly relieved when nothing came out about the secret drinking. They thought she had tripped over the carpet. One of the stair rods was loose. However, she fell from top to bottom. Her neck was broken.”

“What an awful thing to happen! And you had only been married for such a short time. Poor Paul.”

“He was dreadfully upset. It’s changed him. Made him moody. He misses his mother.”

“I understand that. And then you married Myra … quite soon after.”

“Myra is a sweet and gentle person. I think she reminded me of Margarete.” He was silent for a while and then he said: “I’m rather worried about Myra. I think she may be a little homesick. Do you think she is happy here?”

I hesitated and he went on: “Please tell me the truth.”

“Well … I don’t think she is entirely happy. I think she is afraid of disappointing you.”

“Disappointing me! Why should she be?”

“She is quiet and a little nervous, and you …”

“I am the opposite.”

“Well, you are, aren’t you?”

“I thought she would enjoy a little freedom. Her mother was a bit of a gorgon … and in that village … well, it was hardly riotously merry!”

“Perhaps she does not want to be riotously merry.”

“I thought I could get her away from it … make her happy, Diana … May I call you Diana? Miss Grey is so formal and we are good friends and we shall see more and more of each other here. I wanted to talk to you about her. I want you to help her.”

“In what way can I help?”

“I want you to see more of her. Come to the house. Go out with her … shopping … and all the things you ladies like
to do. Be a friend to her. Come and stay at the house. Miss Milne is so efficient. She can manage without you now and then. I’d be so grateful if you could … get closer to Myra. You’re someone from home … you’re already friends. Try to find out what will make her happy.”