Snare of Serpents (47 page)

But I did not have to speak to Roger Lestrange again.

Four days after the relief of the town he returned.

I never knew what he said or thought when he came back and saw Myra alive and well, for on the night of his return he was shot dead by someone who was waiting for him in the gardens of Riebeeck House.

The news travelled quickly and John Dale came to the schoolhouse to tell us about it.

“Who killed him?” I asked.

“Nobody knows as yet. They suspect one of the servants who has been acting strangely for a long time.”

Lilias and I were certain that Njuba had shot him because he had discovered that Roger Lestrange was the murderer of his son.

I said: “Poor Myra. She will be distraught. I must go to see her.”

“I’ll come with you,” said Lilias.

There was chaos at Riebeeck House. Roger Lestrange’s body had been laid in one of the rooms. Myra was weeping bitterly.

Mrs. Prost was present. When she saw me she looked relieved.

“I’m glad you’re here,” she said. “There’s no comforting her. To think he came home for this.”

They found Njuba in the gardens. He seemed bewildered and his eyes were wild.

“He’s mad,” said Lilias. “Poor man. It’s turned his brain.”

“What will happen to him?” I whispered.

“It’s murder,” said Lilias, “whichever way you look at it. It may be rough justice, but it’s murder.”

Njuba kept murmuring: “He killed my son.” He held up a button. “This … in my son’s hand. It from his coat. I find. He killed my son. Held fast … in my son’s hand. Still there … when I find him.”

They took him away.

So there was proof that Roger Lestrange had killed the poor little deaf-mute. It could only have been because he knew the secret of Margarete’s death and, because he could not explain in words, was doing so by using the figures he carved. If Roger Lestrange could kill his wife … if he could kill a small boy … the theory of his idea of shifting the blame to me did not seem so implausible, particularly as we were now certain that he had paved the way with the handkerchief and the cuttings. He had meant to snare me … so that I should be there if the need arose. Serpent-like he had waited for the moment to strike.

Poor Luban was half crazy with grief. We all tried to comfort her. Myra helped with this. Luban had lost a son and was about to lose her husband; but Myra had also lost a husband. It seemed ironical that she had so loved a man who was callously plotting to kill her while at the same time he set out to enchant her. But I think that by helping Luban she found some solace for her own grief.

The sequel to the story amazed everyone when, the following day, Piet Schreiner made an announcement in the chapel.

He stood in the pulpit facing the congregation. The chapel was full of those who were there to give thanks to God for the relief of the town.

“This is the justice of the Lord,” cried Piet Schreiner. “I killed Roger Lestrange. He deserved to die. He was a sinner. He seduced the woman I married and deserted her. I married her to save her family from shame and to give the child a name. God directed me to do such and I will always obey the Lord. Now He has directed me to destroy this despoiler of virgins, this fornicator, this evil liver, who now stands before his Maker. He will be judged for what he is, and the fires of Hell await him. The man Njuba has been wrongly accused. He had murder in his heart. He had his reasons. I and I alone destroyed this wicked sinner. I am the messenger of the Lord, and now that my work is done, I take my leave of this world and go to that place of glory which awaits me.”

The congregation listened spellbound to this peroration. And when it was over, Piet Schreiner took up a gun and shot himself.

T
HE RELIEF OF
K
IMBERLEY
did not mean that the war was over, and the euphoria began to evaporate fairly soon. The comfort of being able to walk about the streets without fear of sudden death and the fact that food was not growing more and more scarce had ceased to be such a great delight to us. The country was still in the throes of war, and a victory here and there was not going to deter the Boers. They were a persistent people. Not unaccustomed to hardship, they believed they were fighting for their homeland and were determined to hold out.

They were fully aware that their army was inferior to that of the British, but that did not prevent their forming into guerrilla bands which attacked the British Army quarters and the lines of communication which were essential to bringing the war to a conclusion.

So the expected peace was delayed.

However, our siege was over; we tried to return to normal life as far as possible and the pupils came back to school.

I went to Riebeeck House frequently, in spite of the fact that I had to meet Mrs. Prost which was an embarrassment to me. She had been deeply distressed by the death of Roger Lestrange. The revelation that the dead boy had been clutching a
button from one of his coats had shocked everyone profoundly. Njuba had taken the coat and it was unmistakable evidence. Then there was the accusation that he was the father of Greta Schreiner’s child. Roger Lestrange had been a hero in Mrs. Prost’s eyes and no doubt she would want to think that another man had been the father of Greta’s child. But she could hardly condone the murder of a helpless child.

As for Myra, she was prostrate for some days after the death of her husband, but gradually she began to rouse herself. She took Njuba and Luban under her care. Njuba was very ill and in danger of losing his mind. I was amazed at the manner in which she and Luban helped each other at that time. Paul was with her a great deal. He had been fond of Umgala. He told me afterwards that the boy had been trying to tell him something, but he could not discover what, and Umgala must have tried to do so through the figures. If he had been quicker to comprehend there would not have been any need for Umgala to make the figures and, presumably, be caught putting them in the Model House, and so meet his death.

Both he and Myra had need of each other at that time.

I used to lie in bed at night going over the dramatic events of the last months, and I would brood on our conjecture that Roger Lestrange had planned to use me. There was little doubt in my mind that he had planned to murder Myra and he would have succeeded but for the turn of events, for if the town had not been besieged he would have been able to come back and complete his work.

I would let my mind run on and imagine Mrs. Prost perhaps going into Myra’s room and finding her dead … poisoned by some insect. But would there have been an enquiry? Would they have discovered that the tonic was poisoned? And if her husband was suspected … he would produce his trump card … all ready to play. Diana Grey was in fact Davina Glentyre. She had been with the deceased a great deal during that time when she was taking the tonic. She had stayed in the house. A handkerchief was found under Mr. Lestrange’s bed which suggested that she was a visitor to his room. Mr. Lestrange had helped her a great deal. Did she have hopes of marriage? In
which case there was a motive and Davina Glentyre had stood trial for the murder of her father who had once stood in her way.

I would sweat with fear … imagining the courtroom. The only difference would be that this one would be in Kimberley instead of Edinburgh. But it did not happen, I kept telling myself. You were saved from that … by the war. But I could not stop thinking of what might have been.

I said to myself, you were in danger … because of what happened before. There is no escape from the past. It has followed you here. He brought you here because of it. He planned to murder her and if necessary shift the blame to you, but now he cannot harm you. But people know of the past. There is no escape from it.

We had news now of what was going on. Johannesburg and Pretoria were now in the hands of the British, but de Wet and de la Rey, with their bands of commandos, were harrying the Army everywhere. Kitchener was growing impatient with the Boers who would not accept defeat. He was following a scorched earth policy, setting fire to those farms which he believed harboured guerrillas; he was setting up concentration camps in which he imprisoned any suspects. But resistance continued; the Boers were as determined as ever; and the war went on.

It was afternoon. The children were leaving after their lessons and Lilias and I were putting the books away when there was a knock on the door.

I went to open it. A man was standing there. I stared at him. I thought I must be dreaming.

He said: “This must be something of a surprise.”

“Ninian!” I cried.

Lilias had come out. She was as dumbfounded as I was.

“Is it really … ?” she stammered.

As he stepped into the hall, I felt an overwhelming joy take possession of me.

H
E SAT IN THE LITTLE ROOM
near the schoolroom and told us how difficult it had been to get here.

“All the formalities … all the ships carrying troops. I managed, though … pleading an important case for a very special client.”

“A client? Then …”

“You
are the client,” he said.

Lilias made us a meal. She would not allow me to help.

She guessed, as I did, that Ninian wanted to be alone with me. But I was still bewildered, marvelling at the fact that he was here.

I sensed that he had important things to say to me but was waiting for the appropriate moment, and Lilias announced the food was ready. She apologised for its simplicity.

“We are no longer in siege, but things are still a little difficult.”

We talked about the siege and the news of the war. Ninian thought it could not last much longer. The Boers were outnumbered. If it had not been for the difficulties of the terrain they would not have had a chance in the first place … and so on.

I was aware of his impatience … which I shared. I wanted to know what it was which had made him undertake such a journey in wartime.

Lilias was very perceptive and as soon as the meal was over she said she had to go and see John Dale. Would we forgive her if she went?

As soon as she had gone, Ninian said: “I know she is in your confidence and that you are great friends, but I did feel that what I have to say is for you alone.”

“I want so much to hear,” I told him.

“You know I was very uneasy about your coming out here, and when I heard that Lestrange had paid for the cabin and befriended you … and that you were seeing a great deal of his wife who was very ill … I began to get more and more disturbed.”

“You know that he is dead?”

“Dead?” He looked at me blankly and I explained.

He put his hand to his head. “Then you are safe,” he said.

“That explains so much. I was right. Oh, what a lucky escape you have had!”

“Tell me what you know.”

“It’s damning against him. I thought I recognised his face, but it didn’t come to me until after you’d sailed. I just could not remember where I had seen that face before. The fact of the matter is that the man was a murderer … the worst sort. Not the man who kills in the heat of passion … or from sense of injustice … but in cold blood … for the lust for money. He killed two women whom he married for their money, and was planning this third crime … Myra Ellington. How is she?”

“She is well now. She has been very ill. But Roger Lestrange went away before the siege and was unable to get back.” I explained about the tonic.

He breathed deeply. “Thank God that you broke the bottle, or it might have been too late. Let me tell you more of this man. The reason I was suspicious about him was that there was a case in Australia. It came to my notice because there was a lawsuit about money. It brought out one of the finer points of law, and as you know, we keep records of that sort of thing. A man named George Manton went out to Australia from England. There he married a wealthy young heiress and within nine months of the marriage she was dead through drowning. Her fortune passed to her husband of a few months: George Manton. It appeared that some years after his wife’s death, the heiress’s father had travelled to England. His daughter was then four years old. While he was in England he married again; the marriage was unsuccessful and the couple agreed to part— the husband returning to Australia, the wife remaining in England. But there was a son of that marriage and this son in due course claimed his share of his father’s fortune. The case was tried out in both the English and Australian courts; and during it a picture of George Manton was published. That is when I saw it. But it was not until after you had left that I remembered the case and looked up the relevant papers. When I heard that Myra was ill I was very alarmed. You remember, I wrote to you, telling you you must come home.”

“I thought that was because war was imminent.”

“It was … but there was this as well … and there was another reason.”

“What was that?”

“A personal one. I will talk to you about that later. I had a strong feeling that you might be in acute danger.”

“Lilias and I have thought that I might have been. But tell me first about this wife in Australia.”

“In your letter you mentioned that he had had a wife who died through falling down stairs. It was too much of a coincidence. One wife drowned in Australia shortly after marriage, another falling down the stairs, and the third … very ill … doubtless being poisoned. He was varying in his methods. And then … he had taken great pains to get you out here.”