Snare of Serpents (41 page)

I had discovered during my brief spell in South Africa that most of the Boers were farmers, whereas the Uitlanders had settled in the towns. The latter were the people who had come to find diamonds and gold and had set up the banks and official buildings, changing the entire aspect of the place.

“It is small wonder,” said Lilias, “that they will not tolerate being deprived of taking part in government.”

It was in October of that year 1899—the last of the century— when the storm broke and South Africa was at war with Britain.

When school was over John Dale came to see us.

He was very concerned. “I don’t know what this is going to mean,” he said.

“Surely these people will not be able to stand out,” replied Lilias. “They will be subdued in a week.”

John was not so sure. “It’s difficult terrain and the Boers are familiar with it. Moreover it is not easy to fight so far away from home.”

“We shall have the men.”

“There are not so many British forces here now.”

“More will surely be sent. Why, ten thousand came not so long ago.”

“We shall have superior arms, of course, and well trained men. The Boers are only farmers … part-time soldiers, but remember they are fighting on territory they know, and which they regard as theirs. I have an uneasy feeling that it is not going to be as easy as some seem to think.” He looked from Lilias to me, the anxiety in his eyes obvious. “It was all going so well,” he said ruefully. “But perhaps you should not have come.”

Lilias smiled at him. “I don’t regret it,” she said. “I never shall.”

He returned her smile rather sadly, I thought. Then he said: “The town is already different. It’s full of strangers. They are getting ready to take it over when the time comes.”

“It would not be for long,” said Lilias.

“What difference will it make to us?” I asked.

“I don’t know. We shall be regarded as the enemy, perhaps.”

“Most of the people in the town are what they call Uitlanders.”

John lifted his shoulders. “We shall have to see,” he said.

We attempted to go on with our lives as we normally did. But we were all so uncertain and when news began to filter through of the Boers’ triumphs over the British our hopes for an early end of the war deserted us.

Roger Lestrange, John Dale and most able-bodied men joined the garrison, for it looked as though it might be necessary to defend the town. The Boers might be farmers, unaccustomed to urban life, but they were shrewd and would recognise the importance of a prosperous town such as Kimberley. They would surely attempt to capture it.

It was early November, approaching the height of summer in South Africa, and the weather was almost unbearably hot.

Myra seemed to be growing weaker. She admitted to me that she had periodic bouts of illness.

“I feel quite weak,” she said. “I don’t feel any desire to eat. Of course, if there is a siege we shall all have to go short of things, I suppose.”

“I expect so,” I replied. “But in the meantime we are trying to keep everything normal. The children are coming to school and life goes on.”

One afternoon I went to Riebeeck House and I found Myra in a state verging on hysteria.

I went to her bedroom. She and Roger had separate rooms now. She had told me that she preferred it because she was worried about being restless in the night.

“What is it, Myra? Would you rather tell me … or …”

“I want to tell you,” she said. “I’m being foolish, I think. But it really frightened me. It’s uncanny.”

“Yes?” I prompted.

“It was in the Model House. I know I shouldn’t go there. It upsets me after I saw that other figure. But this … it was there. It looked so real … I just stared at it. What does it mean?”

“But tell me what you saw.”

“It was those carved figures. It was so like … something that happened. You could imagine it.”

“But what actually did you see?”

“It was the figure of a man cut out of wood … and in his hands he was holding …” She shivered and buried her face in her hands.

“What was he carrying, Myra? You must tell me.”

“He was carrying a woman. Holding her up. Just as though he were going to throw her down the stairs.”

“Oh no,” I murmured.

She looked at me fearfully. “It was awful. Because she … Margarete had fallen down the stairs … I just ran away … screaming. I couldn’t help it. It was because … it seemed to mean something. Roger was there. He tried to comfort me. It was some time before I could tell him what I had seen. He went there then … I followed him. I was afraid that the figures might not be there and it would seem that I had imagined the whole thing.”

“And were they there?”

“Yes … he saw them.”

“What … did he do?”

“He picked it up and broke it. He was so angry because it had upset me so much. He held it in his hand, just looking at it for a moment. Then he put it back, but it wouldn’t stand up. He laid it on the top of the staircase; then he put his arm round me and took me back to my bedroom. He said some person was playing silly tricks and he was going to find out who … and whoever it was would no longer be a member of his household.”

“And he did not find out?”

She shook her head. “Oh, he is so kind to me, Diana. He made me lie down. He said it was all nonsense … nothing to worry about. It was just silly and the only reason why he was so angry was because it had upset me.”

“Who, do you think, would do such a thing?”

“We don’t know. Roger tried to find out. He summoned all the servants to the library and he asked the one who had done it to own up. Who was it who had thought it was amusing to put figures in the Model House? That house was not to be touched by any of them … except those who were to dust it under the supervision of Mrs. Prost.”

“Did anyone own up?”

“No one. But Roger is going to find out. He is determined to.”

“Myra, why should anyone do such a thing?”

“I don’t know.”

“They would have to go to the trouble of carving the figures in the first place and getting up there …”

“I think it was someone trying to frighten me.”

“With little figures like that?”

“I don’t understand.”

“Tell me what’s in your mind, Myra. Why are you so frightened?”

“It’s because of that staircase. I think someone is saying that Margarete did not fall down the stairs because she had been drinking too much … I think they are saying it was not an accident.”

“And you wonder whether …”

“I sometimes feel the figures in the Model House are meant to be a warning …”

“Oh, Myra!”

“I’m afraid to go near that staircase. But there is a sort of compulsion to go there. It is as though someone … is luring me there.”

“Someone?”

“It sounds silly, but strange things do happen. Roger is a very attractive man, isn’t he, and I … well, I’m rather insignificant. It is rather miraculous that a man such as he is should want to marry me.”

“He did marry you, Myra. He must have wanted to.”

“I thought that Margarete might be a little … jealous.”

“But she’s dead!”

“They say that sometimes the dead return. And we are in the same house. Just imagine! She was happy here with him. She had never been happy like that before.”

“Paul says they were a very happy family when his father was alive.”

“But he wouldn’t understand the sort of love she had for Roger. In this house I can believe the past lives on, and I think that she is there waiting to separate us … to lure me to my death …”

“Really, Myra, that’s nonsense.”

“I know. But I am just telling you my feelings.”

“Well, she couldn’t make carvings and put them in the Model House to frighten you, could she? And how is that going to lure you to fall down the stairs?”

“I go there sometimes. I stand at the top and think of her plunging down.”

“Look here, Myra, you’re not yourself. These attacks have been weakening you. They’ve given you odd dreams and fancies … hallucinations perhaps. You’ve got to get back to normal. No ghost can make you do what you don’t want to, nor can it put figures in certain places. Promise me you won’t go wandering round this part of the house alone.”

“I promise,” she said.

I was very worried about her. I talked of it to Lilias. It was a change from the perpetual topic of the war, but, to me, it was almost as alarming.

“She must be losing her mind,” said Lilias in her practical way. “They used to say in the village that Myra was a little simple.”

“She’s not simple … just nervous. She has never been confident in herself. That’s quite different.”

“You don’t think she is secretly drinking, do you?”

“I did wonder that. It could give her fancies.”

“It might well. It looks to me as though that’s the answer.”

“But there is no doubt that the figures were there. Roger saw them.”

“I must admit this is an odd business.”

“You see, first there was a figure lying at the bottom of the staircase, and now these more intricate ones of a man holding a woman and preparing to throw her down.”

“I can only suggest one thing.”

I nodded.

“That he pushed her down the stairs.”

“Or someone did.”

“Well, she did have that diamond which was worth a fortune. And he had married her rather promptly. Someone may have a grudge against him.”

“I wonder who?”

“Well, there are more important things to occupy us at the moment. I was wondering how long we can go on like this. They are all around us. Oh yes, we certainly have other things to think about than little carved figures.”

T
HE NEWS
which filtered in to us continued to be disquieting. The quick and easy victory expected by the British was not forthcoming.

There was an old music hall song which I remembered from my youth and at the start of the conflict it had been revived again. I had heard people singing it in Kimberley when there was talk of war.

We don’t want to fight

But by Jingo if we do

We’ve got the men, we’ve got the ships

We’ve got the money, too.

Somehow now it had a hollow ring. The stark realities of war were different from the dreams of glory.

Depression was descending upon us. The war had started in October and December had come; so far there had been no news of any success. Rather it had been the other way.

I sensed an air of triumph among the Boers in Kimberley.

We did not communicate with them; there was suspicion between us, for how did we know who among us were not spies?

Those were difficult weeks. Several people were leaving the towns—young men who wanted to go and fight.

One day when I went to Riebeeck House I saw Njuba in the gardens.

I said to him: “Is anything wrong?” for there was a look of abject misery on his face.

“My boy … he gone,” he said.

“Umgala!” I cried. “Where has he gone?”

“I do not know, Missee. He just gone. He not home all night.”

“He can’t have gone far. What could a boy like Umgala want to leave home for?”

“He good boy. No speak … no hear … but good boy.”

“I know,” I said. “How long has he been gone?”

“Only one night … one day.”

“Has anyone tried to find him?”

“I ask Massa. He say we try find. But many go now … say Massa. Perhaps Umgala, too.”

“I am sure he will come back, Njuba.”

“I know …” He tapped his chest. “I feel here, Missee. He gone. He no come back.”

I left the poor man shaking his head.

When I saw Paul he was very upset. He said: “Umgala’s run away.”

“His father told me he’d gone.”

“Where could he go to? He can’t speak. Besides, who would he fight for? Whose side would he be on?”

“He’s a strange boy, Paul. He may have had some reason for going.”

“I know him. He didn’t want to run away.”

“Well, it seems he has. There are lots of people slipping out of this town, Paul. We live in strange times.”

“I wish they’d stop this silly old war.”

“I am sure most people feel the same,” I said.

It was the next day when Roger talked to me. I was coming to the house to see Myra when he intercepted me in the garden.

“I wanted to talk to you, D-Diana,” he said. “Things’re coming to a climax. The Boers are doing well. They’ll be taking over the town soon.”