The Sea Cave

by Alan Scholefield

  ‘After Betty died, she started hearing voices.’

  ‘In the house?’

  ‘They started at Betty’s funeral. Then I found her praying to that damn ship’s figurehead in the hall. She said it spoke to her. I used to find her there at odd times of the day and night. She told me God was speaking to her through the figurehead and that she must do God’s will. I said my will was more important and she must stop bloody praying and get the lunch.’

  In her mind, Kate saw Lena huddled in the hall under the great bare-bosomed woman who had once been the prow of the wrecked ship Saxenburg.

  ‘Did Mrs. Preller know?’

  ‘Lena didn’t spend so much time with her after you left. When Betty died, she went up even less. Only to give Miss Augusta her shots. Then, one day, she put on her hat and said she had to go out. She went to the police. You remember Sergeant van Blerk? He told me later she had come to him and said that she’d been praying for guidance and God had told her to stop lying.’

  ‘Lying?’

  ‘She claimed she’d lied at the second inquest on Miriam. She told Van Blerk that it had not been Jonas she’d seen, but Charles.’

  ‘And he believed her?’

  ‘Not at first, but when she’d told her story, he did.’

  ‘What is her story?’

  ‘At the magistrates’ hearing she said she’d seen Charles with Miriam.

  ‘That could have been a lie, too.’

  ‘No-one cross-examined her. Charles pleaded not guilty and reserved his defence. There wasn’t anything the magistrate could do but send him for trial.’

  ‘Do you think he’s guilty?’

  ‘Of course not. Christ, who’d take the word of a bloody mad coloured woman? I reckon Charles’s lawyers will get doctors to show how mad she is.’

  ‘How has Mrs. Preller taken it?’

  ‘How do you think?’

  ‘Badly?’

  ‘Ja. Badly.’

  ‘What caused her illness?’

  ‘After Lena went to the police I kicked her arse off the estate. That was a mistake, I suppose, though we could never have let her stay. But she knew about Miss Augusta’s shots, how much and how often, you know. After she’d gone, I had to do it. Miss Augusta wouldn’t have Tilly near her.’

  Kate thought of him moving about the darkened room, filling the syringe, looking for the veins in the thin, wasted arms, the same arms that had, she believed, held him as a lover so many years before. In Vienna, the thought of them as lovers had been strange; here nothing was strange, everything possible.

  ‘I was late one day and when I got to her room she had given herself her dose. It was something Hennie du Toit had told me to watch, because she sometimes gave herself an overdose. She seemed all right at first, but it turned out that there was already some paralysis in her muscles, from lying in the same position too long. You have to move people like her regularly.’

  ‘I know.’ Kate remembered that Christmas night when she had sat by Mrs. Preller’s bedside, turning her over every half hour.

  ‘Luckily, Hennie dropped in to see her. He’s been here a lot in the past weeks. I think he comes because he’s lonely. He saved her. She still has a little paralysis, and at first we thought she was getting pneumonia. Anyway, things will be better for her now.’

  ‘Why?’

  ‘Because you’re back, my friend.’

  Suddenly, she saw her future clearly: Whatever happened to Charles, she was going to be tied to Saxenburg, tied to a sick woman whom she thought of as old, but who might last twenty years, perhaps even longer with loving care; her loving care.

  It was dusk when she went upstairs. Mrs. Preller was sitting in her usual chair, but the lamp was turned low. Kate leant forward to kiss the dry, scarred cheek.

  ‘I thought I heard the car half an hour ago,’ she said.

  ‘The train was late.’

  ‘Has Smuts told you everything?’

  ‘Yes.’

  As she looked closely, Kate could see the extent of the paralysis. One side of Mrs. Preller’s face was affected by a palsy. The lower jaw was twisted slightly out of alignment, and she had to hold it in place with her hand, otherwise she could not form words. When she spoke, it sounded as though she had water in her mouth.

  ‘Someone put Lena up to it,’ she said. ‘She would never have done it by herself. Never. Not after all I did for her. They hate us, you know. They have always hated the Prellers. It’s because, without us, there would be nothing. We made the town. Now they’re laughing at us.’

  From anyone else the phrases, coming as they did from a semi-paralysed face which was pulled out of shape each time it uttered a word, would have been ludicrous, but not now. Again Kate thought that in Saxenburg almost anything made sense, from a talking figurehead to the acid words of an embittered old woman.

  ‘They’ll pay,’ she was saying. ‘I’ll close the hotel. I’ll close the garage and the fertilizer factory. See how people will like being out of work and with no petrol for their cars and not able to prop up the bar. See how they’ll like that!’

  ‘Have you seen Charles?’

  ‘Of course not. I cannot travel and he is locked up.’

  ‘Has he written?’

  ‘For strangers to paw over before they post the letters? No! Smuts has seen him. The lawyers see him. But he’ll soon be home, then we can forget all this. When my grandchildren are here, then we can laugh at it. It’s nonsense! Charles could never have killed Miriam. They grew up together. They were friends. Boss Charles and I never liked the friendship – my father never let a Jew into his house in Vienna – but they were friends. It could not have happened as they say.’

  Kate saw that she was becoming agitated and, to divert her, said, ‘I was in Vienna when the cable reached me.’

  Mrs. Preller’s mind focussed slowly on the words.

  ‘You? In Vienna?’

  ‘I saw your house. It’s lovely. I went into the garden and talked to your old gardener, Herr Vedder. He’s the caretaker now.’

  There was a silence, then suddenly she said shrilly, ‘I do not wish to talk about Vienna? Do you understand me? Not now . . .’

  ‘Well, well! So you’re back!’ With relief, Kate turned and saw Dr. du Toit in the doorway. He came forward and shook her hand. ‘Thank goodness you’ve arrived. We’ve missed her, haven’t we, Augusta?’

  ‘What are they saying, Hennie?’

  ‘They?’

  ‘You know what I mean. I want to go into town. I want them to see me. I don’t want them to think I’m hiding here.’

  ‘No one thinks that. And you’re not well enough to go out.’

  He stood on the far side of the chair and Kate looked at him in the lamplight. His face was thinner, his hair lank and greasy.

  ‘When can I?’

  ‘Don’t rush things, Augusta. You need rest and peace.’

  ‘Peace! Good God, Hennie, do you think because I sit here day after day away from the world I find peace? They have my son. Don’t you understand that?’

  ‘Augusta, it makes things worse if you get excited. Only time will get those muscles to function again. But not if you’re full of tension.’ He turned to Kate. ‘You’ve heard the details?’

  ‘Mr. Smuts told me.’

  ‘Lena’s mad, of course. Hearing voices. They’ll tear her to pieces at the trial. She’s all the prosecution’s got.’

  ‘Smuts said they didn’t cross-examine her at the magistrates’ hearing.’

  ‘Didn’t want to tip their hands. And you know what they say about a preparatory examination: even if the magistrate finds there is no case to answer, people still say there’s no smoke without fire. But at the trial everything will come out and Charles will be vindicated.’

  ‘He must sue them,’ Mrs. Preller said.

  ‘Augusta, we’ve been through this. Who can he sue? Not the police, they have their duty to do. He can’t sue the judge. He can’t even sue Lena.’

  ‘Henni
e, once he’s found not guilty, I want you to have her arrested.’

  ‘That’s not possible.’

  ‘Then have her committed to an asylum!’

  He glanced at Kate and raised his eyebrows. She rose and excused herself, saying, ‘I must go and change.’ As she closed the door behind her she heard Mrs. Preller saying, ‘You’re a doctor. You can do things like that.’

  She went downstairs and found Smuts. ‘How long has she been like this?’ she said.

  ‘I told you . . .’

  ‘I don’t mean the paralysis.’

  She saw glints of anger in his eyes. ‘It wasn’t your son they took.’

  As she went up to her room, she thought about Smuts. He was no longer the old man she had left. He seemed to have renewed his energy. Perhaps it was taking over the responsibility of the farm again. Or perhaps it was only because she knew that there was a whole relationship between him and Mrs. Preller that was closed to her; a whole life lived out of sight of the world. He was no longer merely a servant. She was glad to see his return to vigour, but did it really help her? He might collapse again any day. In any case, his role was to run the estate. With Lena gone, it was clearly her role to look after Mrs. Preller; a very different Mrs. Preller from the one she had known before.

  When she reached her room, the first thing she saw was a pile of letters on her table. They were all from Tom and she knew they must have arrived on the fast mail ship from Southampton even while she was wallowing through the Red Sea. She locked her door and sorted them by their stamps.

  They were the first love letters she had ever received and she savoured each word. They were filled with passion and longing. As she read, she could hear his voice, see his face. She smelled the paper and thought she could smell his skin. The phrases brought back the days she had spent with him, the cool water in the lily pond, the soft warmth of the night, the new wine. She remembered the walks on the hills, lunch by the Danube, she remembered everything. They were the only memories she had ever really wanted to keep.

  She remembered the day they had parted. He had shown no anger when she had told him she must return to the Cape. He seemed almost to have expected it. He had sat on their big, wooden bed – she thought of it still as theirs – and watched her pack.

  ‘Life has a way of demanding its pound of flesh,’ he had said. ‘I have a Jewish friend who says, “There’s no such thing as a free lunch.” It’s true.’

  ‘I’ll come back,’ she said.

  He had nodded as though this was part of the formal game of departure; a phrase to be used to soften it, but not to be taken literally.

  She finished reading the letters and put them away to be read again.

  The following day, she made arrangements to visit Charles in prison.

  Chapter Four

  Roeland Street Gaol was a bleak, fortress-like building made of mountain stone, with towers and turrets and a heavy steel portcullis that gave it the look of a medieval fortress. It stood above the city on the rising slope of Table Mountain, not far from the Prellers’ apartment. Because Charles was a remand prisoner, Kate was allowed to see him alone in a small room that overlooked the exercise yard. It was sparsely furnished with wooden furniture, each piece stamped with a Government mark. It had absorbed the general prison smell of Jeyes Fluid and brown beans. She had been taken there by Mr. Godlonton, Charles’s attorney, but she had asked to speak to him alone.

  He was dressed neatly in grey flannel trousers and a white shirt, but his face was pallid and there were dark circles under his eyes. She kissed him and he held her for a moment, then she broke away and sat in a straight-backed chair.

  ‘You’re looking fine,’ she said.

  He went to the window and stared at the mountain which reared up behind the prison. A layer of south-easter cloud formed a table-cloth over it.

  ‘You look good, too,’ he said.

  ‘The trip was what I needed.’

  ‘Ja. I wish I could have come with you, but I had to look after the farm.’ His eyes strayed constantly to the window, only half his attention seemed to be on her.

  ‘Smuts said you’re going to have a good season.’

  ‘Maybe.’ Then he said, savagely, ‘What the hell does it mean to me!’

  ‘You’ll be home as soon as the trial’s over. You know that.’

  ‘That’s what they said before.’

  After a moment’s silence she said, ‘Is there anything you need? Books, magazines?’

  ‘Food. The food’s terrible. Stew with beans all the time.’

  ‘I’ll ask Mr. Godlonton if he can arrange something. He brought me here.’

  ‘Where is he?’

  ‘Outside in the car.’

  ‘Why didn’t he come in?’

  ‘I told him I wanted to see you alone.’

  ‘I haven’t seen him for two days.’

  ‘I’m sure he’s doing everything he can.’

  He was nervous. His fingers fretted constantly at a piece of loose cotton on his shirt. He paced up and down the room, never settling in the chair for more than a few moments, restless, preoccupied. Behind his nervousness, she sensed terror.

  ‘I can’t sleep,’ he said. ‘There’s always some bloody noise, always someone talking or snoring or crying. Christ, what a place!’ He went to the window again. ‘I can’t see anything from my window except a brick wall. Did he say he was coming in?’

  ‘Mr. Godlonton? No.’

  ‘Christ! How does he think I feel, left here!’

  ‘I’m sure he knows, Charles. He’s done his best for your mother for years.’

  ‘For my mother, maybe, but not for me. I mean, before the preparatory examination he said they’d never believe Lena. Jesus, what a farce! We sat there on our arses waiting for the magistrate to say there was no case to answer, and the bugger sent me for trial! Godlonton could be wrong again.’

  ‘Do you want me to try and find someone else?’

  ‘It’s too late now.’

  ‘They say that the barrister is a very good man.’

  He nodded. There was an uneasy silence and she was reminded of the visits he had made to her in the hospital. They had never had enough to say to one another and had made each other uneasy and tense. The same was happening now. She longed to leave, but could not. She must relax and try to make him feel better, not worse.

  ‘No one believes me,’ he said.

  ‘Of course they do.’

  ‘No, they don’t. I’ve told them over and over what happened that night and they look at me and take notes, but you can see they don’t believe me.’

  ‘What did happen, Charles?’

  For a moment, she thought he was not going to speak, and then it came out in jerky, almost uncontrolled sentences, and she was taken back to the day of the picnic on which Miriam had tried so hard to make him jealous. She recalled it vividly, especially later, when she had gone into the ruined Berrangé house with him and had had to fight him off.

  According to his story now, he had left Saxenburg later that evening, gone to Miriam’s house and asked her to come for a drive. They had taken some brandy and he had driven back to the Berrangé house.

  ‘That was where you always took her, wasn’t it?’ Kate said. ‘It was really yours and Miriam’s.’

  ‘It had been since we were kids. My mother didn’t want Miriam at our place because she was Jewish, and she didn’t like me having Miriam as a girlfriend. After I went to boarding-school, I hardly saw her. But then after the Berrangés left and the house fell into decay, we made a room there where we could meet.’

  ‘And you made love there?’

  ‘Ja.’

  ‘That night?’

  ‘No. She came with me, all right, and I thought everything was going to be the same, but she wouldn’t. She only came to tease me. She said she’d been with Duggie earlier and they had made love at her house. She said he was a much better lover than me.’

  He paused, and she said, ‘What did you
do then?’

  ‘I really wanted her, you know. So I said I didn’t believe her and caught her by the arm, and we wrestled a bit. I thought she just wanted a bit of fun. But she was serious and fought me off and ran out of the house. I caught her by the gate and tried to make her get back into the car, but she wouldn’t. She was shouting and swearing at me and saying Duggie was a better lover and that she was going to sleep with him in Cape Town, and Jerry, too. So finally I said, the hell with it and got into the car and drove back into town. Freda had gone to bed, but Duggie and Jerry were still drinking in Duggie’s room. I told Duggie to get ready and we drove back to Cape Town.’

  ‘You left Miriam outside the Berrangés’?’

  ‘She wouldn’t get into the car.’

  ‘So that’s when Lena must have seen you. Either then or when you were going into the house. She was coming back from Church.’

  ‘I suppose so.’ Again he paused. ‘Kate, I know what you think of me, after what happened in Cape Town, but I swear to you I didn’t kill Miriam. I always sort of loved her. I would never, never do that to her. And that’s the truth.’

  She remembered Mrs. Preller’s words: ‘Charles could never have killed Miriam.’

  She knew he was waiting for her to agree with him, to believe him, but he had lied so easily before. Instead, she said, ‘And Jerry and Duggie gave evidence at the preparatory examination, of course.’

  ‘They all did. Everyone from the second inquest. Look, I don’t blame Jerry. He had to tell what he knew, but he hasn’t been to see me.’

  ‘Maybe he’s away.’

  ‘No, he’s here. His father died recently and he’s taken over the business. I wrote to him. He never replied.’

  ‘Perhaps he isn’t allowed to if he’s a witness.’

  ‘Maybe.’ But he sounded as though this was the final disloyalty.

  When they came for him she recognised the look in his eyes as the same one she had seen in Jonas’s; a plea for help.

  *

  Later that day, she went to see her parents. She had written to them several times from Europe, letters about what she was doing and who she was seeing, and she’d had one formal note from her mother. Mrs. Buchanan’s style was unique. If Kate said she had been to the opera, the reply would be: ‘You went to the opera with Mr. Mendel, and you enjoyed it. And then you went to the ballet. I’m sorry to hear how hot it was, but you found it was raining when you came out, and that cooled you down.’ The result was that her letters contained very little news. It was only when she wanted something that she was specific.