Snare of Serpents

by Виктория Холт

  “And that’s little Anna’s father?” I said.

  “Well … on the surface. There are some who say that is not the case.”

  “What do you mean?” asked Lilias.

  “Schreiner is all of twenty years older than Greta … she’s the child’s mother. A pretty girl who was inclined to be flighty … once. Her family were strict with her … and I suppose that may have added to the incentive to stray … or to do something that shocks. The fact of the matter is that her family were very friendly with Schreiner. He’s a lay preacher in the chapel which they attend. Whether or not Greta married him because she was in trouble, I am not sure, but I cannot imagine she could have had any other reason for doing so.”

  “So Schreiner is not Anna’s father …”

  “He calls himself her father. It’s all on the records. The girl is Anna Schreiner all right. The fact is that Schreiner married Greta in a bit of a hurry. No one had thought he would ever marry anyone—let alone a young girl like that. There was a lot of talk about it. However, there it was. They married—that frivolous young girl and the hellfire preacher so much older than herself. It was a nine days’ wonder. There was as much talk about it as when Ben Curry found the Blue Diamond and made a millionaire of himself. But that happened more than five years ago. People forget. They only remember now and then.”

  “So that poor child lives with her flighty mother and this fanatically religious man who may or may not be her father.”

  “Poor little thing. I don’t suppose she has too good a time.”

  “I must try to help her in some way,” I said.

  “Don’t get into conflict with old Schreiner,” warned John. “Holy men can be fiendish when they are fighting the enemies of the righteous … which means anyone who doesn’t agree with them.”

  “That’s not likely,” said Lilias. “But I know Diana will be gentle with the poor little thing.”

  After that I took an even greater interest in Anna Schreiner, but no matter how I tried, it was impossible to get her to talk. She just worked more diligently than the others and quietly walked away with her pretty mother.

  What sort of life did they have with each other? I wondered.

  ON OUR SECOND SUNDAY in Kimberley Lilias and I were invited to lunch at Riebeeck House.

  Myra had called on us on the previous Wednesday about four-thirty, after school had closed.

  She said: “I guessed that I should be interrupting school if I came at any other time. Do tell me how everything is going.”

  “Very well indeed,” Lilias told her enthusiastically. “We have been agreeably surprised.”

  “That’s wonderful. I hear that the school is a great success.”

  “That’s a bit premature,” cautioned Lilias, but she was well pleased. “Where did you hear that?”

  “From Mrs. Prost, our housekeeper. She is one of those women who know what is going on everywhere.”

  “Useful to have around,” I commented. “And how is everything with you?”

  “Oh …” There was a brief hesitation. “Everything is very well.”

  “And you like the house?”

  “It’s … very large and one is apt to get lost. The servants are nearly all Africans. It makes it difficult to … be understood.”

  “But this Mrs. Prost, she looks after everything, I suppose.”

  “Oh yes. I came to ask you over to lunch on Sunday. It has to be a Sunday for you, doesn’t it?”

  “Yes,” said Lilias. “That is the best day.”

  “Roger wants to hear all about the school. He says you will have settled in and formed an opinion by now.”

  “People have been so good to us,” said Lilias. “It was lucky for us that we met you on the ship … and since that mistake about our cabin, we were able to be with you. And now that we are here, well, Mr. Dale has been quite invaluable to us, hasn’t he, Diana?”

  I said that he had, for from the moment we had arrived he had taken us under his wing.

  “They’re so glad to get the school going again,” said Myra. “You will come, won’t you?”

  “But of course,” I said. “We shall be delighted, shall we not, Lilias?”

  So it was arranged.

  When she had gone, I said to Lilias: “I can’t help feeling that all is not quite right with that marriage.”

  Lilias laughed at me. “You and your fancies! First it’s little Anna Schreiner, and now it is the Lestranges. The trouble with you is that you have too much imagination and you let it run wild. You like something dramatic to happen and when it doesn’t you set about creating it.”

  “Perhaps you’re right,” I said. “But all the same …”

  Practical Lilias. She could only smile at me.

  And as I liked to see her happy I smiled with her.

  RIEBEECK HOUSE was something of a mansion. Although it was situated in the town, once one had passed through the gates and entered the grounds which surrounded the house, one might have been miles away from any other dwelling.

  The drive in was about a quarter of a mile in length, but the foliage was so lush and abundant that one felt one was in the heart of the country. Flowering shrubs of colourful blossoms were huddled together. Flame trees and poinsettias added a further dash of colour. I shall never forget my first sight of the place as we came through this mass of vegetation to the white house.

  It was an imposing place, built in the Dutch style. There were steps leading up to a stoop in front of the house and on this were urns which were almost hidden by the prolific plants.

  It was large and there seemed to be many windows. It was one of those houses which had a personality of its own. Lilias laughed at this when, later, I mentioned it to her. Practical Lilias saw everything with absolute clarity for what it was.

  Very soon I felt there was something a little repellant about the house. Perhaps it was because I could never feel absolutely at ease in the company of Roger Lestrange. I also had an idea that Myra was not as happy as she should be and that she shared with me that vague lack of ease.

  Mrs. Prost came down to greet us.

  “You must be Miss Milne and Miss Grey,” she said. She had small light eyes which darted everywhere. Her light brown hair was plaited and wound round her head. I had the impression that there was little she would miss. “Do come in,” she went on. “I’ll tell Mrs. Lestrange that you are here.”

  “We’re glad to meet you, Mrs. Prost,” said Lilias.

  “Welcome to Kimberley. I hear the school is doing well.”

  “It’s early days yet,” said Lilias cautiously. “But all is well … at the moment.”

  “Very pleased to hear it, and so is everyone.”

  Myra appeared.

  “I thought I heard your arrival.”

  Mrs. Prost stood watching while Myra greeted us.

  “Luncheon will be served at one o’clock, Mrs. Lestrange,” she said.

  “Thank you, Mrs. Prost.” Myra turned to us. “Do come up. Roger is in the drawing room. He is so looking forward to hearing your news.”

  She took my hand and held it lingeringly.

  “Are you well?” I asked.

  “Oh yes … thanks. I am so glad you came. I wanted to call at the school, but I thought you would be so busy just at first.”

  “We’re teaching in the mornings … and then again from two till four,” said Lilias. “Any time after that we love to receive visitors.”

  “Roger says that John Dale has been looking after you.”

  “He is,” said Lilias warmly. “We are so grateful to him. He has made everything so easy for us.”

  We were taken through a large hall with white walls and vivid red curtains, up a staircase to a room on the first floor.

  Myra opened a door and said: “They’re here.”

  It was a spacious room with tall windows. My first impression was that of an interior painting by one of the Dutch masters. The floor was of delicately tinted tiles which gave an impression
of coolness. Later I noticed the heavy furniture— baroque style—the table with the scrolls and the inlaid ebony, the cabinet on stands, impressive with pilasters and decorative carving.

  But there was no time to look round then for Roger Lestrange had risen and was coming towards us, hands outstretched.

  “Miss Milne … Miss Grey … what a pleasure!”

  He took our hands and smiled warmly. “How good of you to come. I have been hearing of your success. It is especially gratifying as I shall receive the thanks of the grateful townsfolk for bringing you here.”

  “We have been here only a short time,” began Lilias tentatively.

  “And,” I added, “we have fourteen pupils, so there has hardly been a stampede to our gate.”

  Lilias smiled at me. “We are really very pleased,” she said. “We were warned that there would only be a few pupils and Mr. Dale did not really expect so many as there are.”

  Roger looked at Myra expectantly and she said hastily: “Come and sit down. Luncheon will be served at one.”

  “What do you think of our house?” asked Roger.

  “We are very impressed by what we have seen,” said Lilias.

  “After luncheon you shall see it all and then you will be able to pass judgement.”

  “You seem to be isolated, though, of course, you are not really,” I said.

  “I’m glad you get that impression. And you are right, of course. No one can really be isolated in a town. But it is good to be here for business reasons and I like to create an impression of detachment, even if it is not strictly true. That was one of the reasons why I bought the house.”

  “Oh? I had the impression that it was a sort of house which had been in your family for years.”

  “Oh no. I bought the place … lock, stock and barrel … furniture and everything. It belonged to an old Dutch family who had been here for a hundred years. They decided they did not like the way things were going and they sold up and went back to Holland. It was very convenient for me. We … my first wife and I … wanted a place and this seemed to suit. So there it was, waiting for us. We just walked in and took on everything that was here … furniture, Mrs. Prost, most of the servants, I believe. Mrs. Prost would know how many.”

  “You didn’t mind just walking in and taking over someone else’s possessions?”

  “We didn’t mind in the least. We found it convenient … That was Margarete … my first wife.”

  I glanced at Myra. I saw her flinch slightly. I wondered what that meant. Or did it mean anything? Was I imagining again?

  We went into luncheon … to a similar room. I noticed the tiled floor, the heavy table and chairs.

  Roger Lestrange sat at one end of the table, Myra at the other, Lilias and I facing each other.

  As we ate Roger said: “There is one thing I wanted to ask you. It’s about my son, Paul. He is at present without a tutor. I was wondering whether it would be a good thing to send him away to school in England? It’s a big undertaking for him and I am not sure that he is ready. I thought that … for a while … if you would have him, I might send him along to your school.”

  Lilias cried: “Of course, we should be delighted.”

  “You must meet him before you go.”

  While silent-footed Africans served the food, Roger Lestrange made a few comments about the weather and I could see that Lilias was impatient to hear more about Paul.

  “Isn’t he rather young to be sent overseas?” asked Lilias.

  “Oh no. He’s nine years old. Isn’t that the time boys go away to school? I should imagine many boys in England would be in boarding schools at that age.”

  “Yes, but this is sending him overseas … right away from his home.”

  “I don’t think he would mind that, do you, my dear?”

  Myra agreed that he would not mind.

  “He’s a strange boy,” went on Roger. “He keeps out of our way since we’ve been back.” He was looking at Myra, who seemed embarrassed, as though it were her fault that the boy kept away. Perhaps he resented his stepmother. Very likely. In any case, it appeared that Myra might be accepting the blame.

  “Oh well, you’ll see for yourselves.” He wrinkled his brows and looked at us rather anxiously. “Do you know,” he went on, “I’m seriously beginning to wonder whether you were wise to come here.”

  “Why?” I asked sharply; Lilias was looking at him questioningly.

  “I don’t much like the way things are going. I haven’t liked it for some time … but now that I’m back, I see what’s happening more clearly.”

  “What is happening?”

  “Kruger is getting very stubborn. Trouble is blowing up fast between him and Chamberlain.”

  “Chamberlain?”

  “Joseph Chamberlain, Secretary of State for the Colonies. The trouble goes back a long way … you might say, right to the beginning of the century … ever since the British captured the Cape from Napoleon’s Dutch allies. I believe I have mentioned the trouble about the slaves when the British tried to reform conditions for the Khoi servants and made laws to protect them against cruelty. There has been antagonism between the Boers and the English ever since.”

  “They don’t seem to be antagonistic towards us … individually.”

  “Oh no. It’s the leaders who are at each other’s throats. They don’t blame us for what they call the arrogance of our leaders.”

  “We have become quite friendly with a number of them now,” I said. “They have all been … well … rather especially nice to us.”

  “It’s a quarrel between states. All the same, it can blow up. There would not be another Great Trek. This time they would stand firm and fight for their land.”

  “What Great Trek was this?” asked Lilias.

  “It happened about fifty years ago, but it’s still remembered. The conditions imposed by the British had robbed them of their slave labour, and they were unable to exist on the land, so they gathered their families and their goods together and set out across country in their ox-drawn wagons. Life was difficult. They were hard-working people, sternly religious, self-righteous, as such people often are, and they firmly believed that all who were not of their way of thinking were on the road to hell. All they wanted was to be left in peace with their slaves and their dogma, to work and make a living. So, harried by African tribes … the Zulus, the Ndebele and the Matabele … prevented from making a living by the British laws against slavery, what could they do? Only escape from their rulers to another land. Hence the Great Trek across country. They went as far as Natal and settled in the Transvaal.”

  “They had a great deal of courage,” said Lilias.

  “That’s something no one could accuse them of lacking. Then, of course, diamonds were discovered … and gold. That was to have a marked effect on the country. People came pouring in and Rhodes and Jameson dreamed of a British Africa. They managed to persuade Lobengula, King of the Matabele, to let them have mining concessions, and you know these lands are now Rhodesia … a British colony. But the trouble is between Kruger and Chamberlain.”

  “That,” said Lilias, “means trouble between the British and the Boers.”

  “There was a possibility at one time that Germany might come to the aid of the Boers and it seemed unlikely that the British would want to risk a war with Germany. It was a different matter with South Africa alone. That is what people are afraid of.”

  “Wouldn’t it be better to come to some compromise?” asked Lilias.

  “The Boers are not people to accept a compromise … unless it were forced on them.”

  “And would it not be forced upon them by the power of Britain?” I asked.

  “That might be, but I believe they are prepared to put it to the test. That is the crux of the matter: the franchise which Kruger is imposing in the Transvaal. The Uitlanders outnumber the Boers, so Kruger can’t give them the vote. Oh dear, I am spoiling this luncheon which I wanted to be so pleasant. It makes us very happy to have
you here, does it not, Myra?”

  “It does indeed,” she said fervently.

  “Forgive me for bringing up a subject which would have been better left alone.”

  “If it’s happening we would rather know about it,” said Lilias.

  “Well, don’t let’s worry about it. There is peace so far. No one wants war. It is devastating to a country and almost always profits no one.”

  “Yet there are constantly wars,” said Lilias.

  He sighed. “That is the nature of man. Now … you must see more of this country. You will find it impressive, beautiful … often awe-inspiring.”

  It came out during the course of the conversation that he had only been in South Africa some six or seven years. When I had first met him I had decided that he could not be of Dutch origin as so many of the people in South Africa were; but I had read somewhere that a certain number of French settlers in Africa were Huguenots who had left their own country to escape persecution, and I had assumed from his name that he was one of those. When I told him this, he said that he was indeed of French origin and his family had come to England at the time of the Edict of Nantes. So I was right in thinking that he came from a Huguenot family. He had, though, lived in England most of his life.

  “You are very knowledgeable about your adopted country,” I said.

  “I always believe in finding out all I can.” He looked at me steadily. “About everything,” he added.

  I felt myself flushing and felt annoyed. Must I always suspect someone was probing my secret?

  It was when the meal was over that a messenger arrived at the house asking that Mr. Lestrange go and meet a business colleague without delay as something important had turned up and needed his immediate attention.