Snare of Serpents (45 page)

“Innocence should be your shield against all that,” said Lilias. “You know you were innocent. I knew I was innocent when I was accused. It helps. I’ve told John about the affair of the necklace and he agrees with me.”

She was right, of course. I had to be reasonable. The handkerchief must have been caught up in something and got carried into that room. It seemed implausible, but strange things did happen.

After a few days I began to feel a little better about the affair, but I had no desire to go back to Riebeeck House.

Myra came to the schoolhouse. She was looking much better now. Her cure had been quite miraculous and she had lost most of her nervousness.

She looked at me in some consternation.

“You haven’t been to see me.”

“Well … there’s been a lot to do here.”

She looked surprised, but did not ask what.

“We missed you,” she went on. “Mrs. Prost was quite upset.”

And so she should be, I thought. It is because of her that I’ve stayed away. All the same I was glad she had mentioned what was in her mind. I would rather know than have her continue with her speculations.

“She thought you might have been offended about something. I told her that was nonsense. But I thought I’d come to see you. Is everything all right?”

“Hardly all right, Myra. Things are getting worse. We shall all be starving soon.”

“Yes, I know. And someone was killed last night … near the church.”

“It’s unsafe to be in the streets.”

“It’s unsafe to be anywhere, so one might as well be in one place as another. I wonder when it is all going to end. Oh, Diana, I wonder about Roger. Where can he be?”

“He didn’t say, did he? Well, he couldn’t, of course. It was some mission from the garrison … to let people know what was happening in the town, I suppose, and get help if possible.”

“I pray he is all right. It’s awful that he’s not here now that I am so much better. He couldn’t understand what was wrong with me. He used to worry so much. And to think it was that wretched insect. Who would have thought little things like that could do so much harm? We’ve had rather an upset at Riebeeck. It’s poor old Njuba.”

“It was so terrible about the boy.”

“If it had been an accident it would have been different … though that would have been terrible enough. But to think he was strangled and someone had deliberately killed him …”

“Who could have done that, Myra, to a helpless little boy?”

“It’s a mystery. If it wasn’t for the siege there would have been an enquiry, I suppose. But now nobody thinks of anything but how long we can hold out.”

“That is understandable.”

“What I was going to tell you was that poor Njuba is acting strangely. He just wanders about, muttering to himself. He got into the house and was found going in and out of the rooms… as though he were looking for something. Mrs. Prost found him turning out cupboards. She asked what he wanted and he wouldn’t tell her. She didn’t know what to do. She sent for Luban to take him home. It’s very sad. Poor Luban. She’s lost her son and her husband seems as though he is losing his wits. What terrible things happen, Diana!”

“Yes,” I replied. “That’s true.”

“Please come and see me.”

“It is just as easy for you to come here.”

“Yes, but there is more room at the house and the gardens are nice.”

“All right. I’ll come.”

Lilias was pleased when I told her. “It’s the best thing. Mrs. Prost would think she had been right if you stayed away. You can convince her how wrong she was, I’m sure.”

“But / am not sure about that,” I replied. “I think she has made up her mind that her beloved master is irresistible, and she exonerates him absolutely; and she doesn’t take too stern a view of me because he is the man in the case.”

F
EBRUARY HAD COME.
We were living on small rations. When we awoke in the mornings we wondered what the day would bring. This state of affairs could not continue. Something had to happen soon.

There were constant outbreaks of gunfire; it had ceased to be sporadic and was normal now. One night a party of three men arrived in the town, having broken through the forces surrounding us; one of them was wounded.

There was jubilation in the streets next morning. People stood about talking with an animation which I had not seen for some time. We should not give up hope yet. The British were advancing. They had suffered a major defeat at Spion Kop, but after that things had changed. Ammunition had been pouring into the country. Two names were mentioned with awe: Major General Horatio Herbert Kitchener and Field Marshal Sir Frederick Sleigh Roberts. They were marching on and were coming to our relief.

New hope was springing up everywhere. People were saying
that it was not possible for the great British Empire to be beaten by a handful of farmers. The British now had the measure of the land. “We’ve got the men, we’ve got the ships and we’ve got the money, too.”

Hope was a great reviver. People were smiling in the streets. “It won’t be long. Kitchener and Roberts are on the way.”

I went to Riebeeck House. Lilias was right. To stay away could imply that Mrs. Prost’s suspicions were correct. All the same I did not like staying in the house. I often suggested to Myra that we sit in the gardens. In any case, they were beautiful. The scent of the flowers, the murmur of insects suggested peace … even in these troubled times. Sometimes we walked.

We went along past the waterfall where poor Umgala’s body had been found and on as far as the rondavels.

I do not know what impulse led me to that particular rondavel. It was a little apart from the others and it looked as though it were falling into decay. The grass grew tall about it. There was a hole in the thatched roof.

“That would have been repaired, I daresay, if all this hadn’t happened,” said Myra.

“Who is supposed to keep them in order?”

“The natives. They are their homes. They look after them themselves.”

Something urged me to go forward and as I did so a small boy darted up to us. He smiled, his teeth dazzlingly white against his dark skin.

“Whose home is this?” Myra asked him.

His smile disappeared. He looked furtively over his shoulder. “No one live here, Missee. Devil man there.”

“Devil man?” I said.

“Bad place. Missee no go.”

“It’s only one of the rondavels that has been left to decay. That’s what’s wrong with it.”

“Old man live there. He die. No one want place. It bad. Umgala … he not know. He go … he like. He always there. He die …”

The mention of Umgala startled me. I wanted to go into the rondavel.

“Let’s just take a look,” I said, and started forward.

“No … no, Missee.” The boy was really alarmed. “Bad place. Big snakes in grass. Devil’s snakes. They wait … to catch …”

“We’ll be careful,” I said, and I went forward.

Myra said: “Perhaps we’d better not …”

But I was already making my cautious way through the long grass.

I reached the door, lifted the latch and went in. There was a buzzing noise and a huge insect, which looked like an enormous dragonfly, cruised across the rondavel and settled on a small bench.

“Let’s go!” said Myra. “We don’t want to get stung.”

But something held me there. Under the bench was a rough drawer and below it on the earth floor I noticed wood shavings and splinters of wood.

I went across the room. The insect was still perched on the bench. Keeping my eyes on it I opened the drawer. I had to shake it to get it open and when I did so I saw several carved figures, among them that one which I had seen lying at the bottom of the staircase in the Model House.

I turned to Myra who was standing in the doorway.

“Come away!” she cried. “I don’t like this.”

I said slowly: “That boy … he said Umgala came here … no one else did. He was often here … before he was murdered.”

Myra said: “I’m going. It’s horrible here …”

I followed her. She was already pushing her way through the long grass.

“Myra,” I said. “Myra, it was Umgala …”

At that moment we saw the snake. It had risen and was close to us. It hissed ominously. It had been lurking in the grass.

Evading it, I ran after Myra. I think we were lucky in seeing it in time.

We had reached the clearing. We stopped, panting. I turned to look behind us. There was no sign of the snake.

Myra was trembling. I put an arm round her. “It’s all right now,” I said. “It’s back there in the grass.” And all I could think of was: Umgala made the figures … and Umgala was murdered. This was a momentous discovery. I was bemused, bewildered. Ideas were jostling each other in my mind. I felt I must not mention my discovery to Myra. I wanted to talk it over with Lilias first.

Myra was clinging to me.

“It was awful … that horrible thing in the grass. It was waiting there for us … while we were in that place … it was there in the grass … waiting for us. I didn’t want to go there. I knew there was something dreadful about it. I hate these places. Diana, I want to go home.”

I knew that by “home” she did not mean Riebeeck. She wanted to be in Lakemere.

“You’ll feel better after a rest,” I said, calming her and myself at the same time. But I was not really thinking of her but of that boy who was the carver of the figures and who had died because of them.

Mrs. Prost was coming across the lawn.

“Oh, good afternoon, Miss Grey. Mrs. Lestrange, you look as if you’ve seen a ghost.”

“We’ve seen a snake,” I said.

“Nasty beggars.”

“It was close to us,” said Myra. “It was lurking in the grass. It hissed at us.”

“What sort of snake?”

“I don’t know. It was big. We just thought of getting away.”

“Quite right, too.”

She came with us into the house.

“A nice cup of tea’s what’s wanted now,” she said. “There’s none left. It’s come to a pretty pass when you can’t have a cup of tea when you want one.”

I wanted to get away. I desperately wanted to talk to Lilias.

“You ought to have a lie down, Mrs. Lestrange,” said Mrs. Prost. “You look all shaken up.”

“I think that’s a good idea, Myra.”

She agreed. So I said goodbye to her and prepared to leave. But as I came out of her room Mrs. Prost was waiting for me.

“There is something I ought to say to you, Miss Grey,” she said.

I hesitated. Was she going to apologise for what she had suggested on our last meeting?

“Come into my room,” she said.

So I went.

Mrs. Prost looked embarrassed and I began to feel uneasy, suddenly fearful of what she would reveal next.

She said: “I ought to have told you before. I couldn’t bring myself to. But I’ve got fond of you … and I couldn’t believe it and yet there it was.”

“Yes?” I said faintly.

“I … er … know who you really are.”

“What … do you mean?”

“You’re Miss Davina Glentyre.”

I gripped the sides of my chair. I felt sick and dizzy. That which I had never ceased to dread had come to pass.

She was looking at me steadily.

“How … did you know?” I asked.

She rose and went to a drawer—the same one from which, on that other occasion, she had taken the handkerchief. She brought out two newspaper cuttings and gave them to me. The headlines stared back at me.

“Guilty or Not Guilty? Miss Davina Glentyre in Court. Dean of Faculty Addresses Jury.”

I could not read the print. It danced before my eyes. All I could see was those damning headlines.

“How long have you known?” I asked, and I thought at once: what does it matter how long? She knows now.

“Oh … for some time.”

“How?”

“Well, it came about in a funny way. I was dusting Mr. Lestrange’s room and he came in. He was one to have a little chat … always the gentleman … never making you feel small like. I said, ‘I won’t be a minute, sir. I always like to do your room myself, to make sure everything’s all right.’ He said,
‘You’re very good, Mrs. Prost. I’ve just come in to get some papers. Don’t let me stop you.’ He went to his desk there and took out some papers, and as he did so these fluttered to the floor. I picked them up. I couldn’t help seeing them.”

“He had them in his drawer? Then …”

She nodded, and went on: “He said, ‘You’ve seen these cuttings now, Mrs. Prost. So I think you and I should have a little chat. Sit down.’ So I sat and he said: ‘You recognise the young lady?’ I said, ‘Yes, it’s her that calls herself Miss Grey.’ He said, ‘She was most unfortunate. I believe in her innocence. She was definitely not guilty of killing her father. You couldn’t believe that of her, could you, Mrs. Prost? Not a nice charming young lady like Miss Grey.’ I said: ‘No, I couldn’t, sir, but …’ Then he said: ‘She’s come out here to start a new life. I want to help her, Mrs. Prost. Will you, too?’ I said, ‘Well, I’m ready to do what you say, sir.’ ‘Take these papers,’ he said. ‘Put them away somewhere. Just hide them. I shouldn’t leave them about. The servants … you know … one of them might find them. Just take them and make sure no one sees them. I want you to help me rehabilitate Miss Grey. I like her. I like her very much. She is a young lady who deserves another chance.’ Then he gave me these cuttings.”