Shadows & Lies

by Marjorie Eccles

  Naturally, the nuns wanted their convent to be finished as soon as possible, but I feared they might be showing more optimism than was justified. The town had made a free gift of the site for the convent, which indeed they could well afford to do, for it was an unpromising piece of scrubland to put it at its best, which before anything else needed to have stubborn old thorn trees chopped down and their stumps grubbed out. The mudbrick walls would be rising as soon as the rock-hard ground could be levelled and boulders removed – not for nothing did the native name for the town, Mafikeng, mean ‘the place of stones’. But the convent was altogether a far more ambitious project than any yet undertaken in Mafeking, destined to be the best yet, the only two-storeyed building in the town, in fact, and because of this, the builders were proceeding with extreme caution, not to mention slowness, however much Father Ogle bullied and cajoled. But this had dismayed the nuns not one whit.

  “Will you look at how well it’s coming on? It seems God has answered our prayers and our home will be finished sooner than we had dared to hope,” said my friend, Sister Mary Columba, with her ever cheerful smile, joining me as I walked along to the school. She was a young, fresh faced and very pretty novice, totally unlike my admittedly vague notion of what a nun should be and, I think, a little unlike her own. She had a quick and puckish sense of humour; her face, rosily glowing with heat under the restricting coif, always bore a smile. Her voice was as soft as the rain falling from the skies of her native Donegal, though it was not so much what she said, as her silences, which fell upon her with disconcerting suddenness, whenever she remembered Mother Superior’s caution that talking too much was an indulgence. But laughter and humour were never far away from her twinkling eyes.

  She was happy at the prospect of the convent walls going up soon, with the gentle confidence that all would be well if their trust was put in God, and who could question her faith?

  Indeed, I hoped for all their sakes that their faith would be rewarded.

  In the event, it was opened early in the following year. Considering the difficulties, in record time.

  The time I spent at the convent was something of a lifesaver for me, and not only because it filled in time that would otherwise have hung heavy on my hands. I had come to love those quiet, religious women who followed their own form of practical Christianity by teaching, nursing the sick and providing help wherever they could see it was needed to the people of Mafeking. I could not embrace their Catholic faith, but I believe I’d learned from them a composure I didn’t have before, and to swallow my growing disappointment that life as the wife of a serving officer wasn’t all it was cracked up to be. I’d learned the ability to hold my tongue, too, when I couldn’t agree with the ingrained, stiff-necked and rigid code of discipline demanded of men like Hugh. I assisted in teaching the girls in the school and generally helped out as much as I could, often acting as a liaison between the nuns and the traders in the town. It was tiring work, especially in the hot season, but if the nuns could rise at three in the morning for prayer, work for a full day and then spend their evenings in contemplation and more prayer, I felt humbled enough to carry on.

  One morning Hugh, back home after a long spell of duty, woke as I was getting ready to meet Sister Mary Columba at the convent. She had begun a routine of going down to the mission church in the native stadt, taking food and teaching the black children to read and write – and, incidentally, to be instructed in the Catholic faith. Braving the disapproval of many of the other ladies in the town, I had fallen into the habit of going with her, and while she ran the thread of her religion through everything she taught, I tried to instil some small idea that there was, out there, a wider world beyond Mafeking. The thirst for knowledge of some of these children amazed and delighted me. It was something with which I could sympathise.

  I was taken aback by Hugh’s disapproval when he learned where I was going. He was not against me having a useful occupation, something to fill in the time while he was away, and found nothing wrong with my teaching the girls at the convent, but when I told him what our plans were for that morning, he met my explanation with a look of frank disapproval, frowning and leaning back against the pillows, his arms folded behind his head. “I hope you’re not getting any notions of treating the Kaffirs as equals, Hannah – that’s just asking for trouble. You have to keep ’em under control, you know, or they’ll soon have the upper hand. I thought you’d have learned that by now. Black’s black and white’s white, and they’re not the same as us, however you look at it.”

  There were differences, I had to admit. Everyone knew that though they were childlike, amiable and willing to please, the blacks were also lazy, they told lies and they were cruel to their animals; they stole, and would promise anything to get themselves out of trouble. They were incapable of keeping time. But how could they ever learn to be otherwise if they were not educated? I asked.

  This was not the time to argue the point, and neither of us said any more, but the exchange curiously disturbed me. I knew Hugh always treated the natives with the same courtesy as he treated everyone else — so how could he feel this way? I worried that he might be growing more imbued with the attitudes I encountered all too often in other officers. ‘Give them an inch and they’ll take a mile’ was an expression one heard all too often. But to keep the black people of this land ignorant was surely as horrible a barbarity as using them as slaves and worse, as the Boers did.

  We had been married for two years, during which I had learned several things. One was that marriage was not the grand passion, or even the meeting of soulmates which the silly, romantic girl I had been had once hoped for. Another was that my husband was a man who kept his life in separate compartments. Nor was he a demonstrative man. I knew in my heart that he would go to the ends of the earth for me if necessary and that should surely have been enough, but I longed for more, for some demonstration that I, and not that life he led when he was away from me, took first place. This was hard not to believe, when I saw how alive and interested he became when he was with his brother officers and their talk was all of the sporadic rebellions across the border, and what they were prepared to do in the face of the war with the Boers which was sure to come. But this was where my life had led me, and I reminded myself that regardless of everything else, we did love each other, if not passionately, at least truly.

  “What’s wrong with you lately, Hannah?” he asked now.

  “I’m sorry, Hugh, perhaps I’m a little out of sorts. Maybe it’s the weather.”

  I pretended not to see his disappointed look. There was plenty of time yet. I would not let the desire for a child dominate my life, as it did Lyddie’s.

  He was always kind and gentle. He rose and kissed me before I left, to show he had forgiven me.

  As the storm clouds gathered and troops were moving into position on both sides, it became impossible to ignore the fact that war was on our doorstep. Food and other necessities of life were being stockpiled, and more and more of those who could leave Mafeking were taking the opportunity to do so, while refugees from other parts flocked in.

  Lyall was worried about what would happen to his business in the event of hostilities, taking all the necessary preventive measures he could to conserve and protect his stock. To this end, he decided he needed to make a trip to inspect one of the ostrich farms, worked by two brothers out of England, who supplied him with feathers – for which England had a seemingly insatiable demand, not only for boas and hats and aigrettes for debutantes to wear in their hair, but also for feather dusters and as decorations to stick in vases. He reckoned he could make the trip in three days. Lyddie’s eyes lit up. “Oh, do let me go with you – I’m sure I shall go quite mad if I don’t get away from all this endless talk of war.”

  In the end he gave in, perhaps knowing how much she was in need of something to divert her thoughts from what was becoming an obsession with her and a great worry to him: her inability to have a child. I could understand how she, with al
l the abundant and robust good health that was part of her attraction, chafed against her inability to fulfil the quite normal function of carrying a baby to full term. On the other hand, she had been told that having another child might cost her her life. It was ironic that she had by now conceived three times, each of which had ended in failure, whereas I …I could not conceive at all.

  Several more people joined us in the expedition, there being a general feeling there might not be another such chance for a very long time. With us was Roger Marriott, a young subaltern, and Caroline Douglas, the meek and silent wife of Hugh’s friend, Major Thomas Douglas — only she was neither meek nor silent on this trip, I thought as I observed her laughing and teasing Roger. But the desert air had an exhilarating effect on all of us, as if it were charged with electricity, and we were all in gay spirits.

  “Caroline Douglas? Must we, Lyall?” Lyddie had said, making a moue. “She’s such a little goose.” But we couldn’t find any excuse to prevent her accompanying us, and Lyddie, with her usual good nature, made her feel welcome. But she was right, I thought: Caroline was a silly, vapid young woman, whose company was always a trial, and I was quite content to leave her to Lieutenant Marriott. Thomas was to have come with us too, but, like Hugh, he could not be spared from his duties at this time. Roger, I supposed, was not of enough importance for him to be forbidden two or three days’ leave but, watching him with Caroline, I thought Lyddie hadn’t shown much sense in inviting him along when she was to be there.

  Like any small town, Mafeking was a place rife with gossip and rumour, petty quarrels and intrigues, and I was sure there was nothing much in the little scandal that was blowing up around Caroline and the young lieutenant, but having him accompany us on this trip was going to do nothing to lessen the gossip. Roger cut a handsome and dashing figure, and all the ladies were romantically in love with him. It was a surprise when he’d picked out Caroline for his special attentions, though it shouldn’t have been; he liked a conquest. There was nothing more to it than a mild flirtation, I was sure, but Hugh took a different stance.

  “She’s making a fool of Tom – and the scandal could cost him his career if he doesn’t watch out. She’s going to ruin him, as well as Marriott, if she’s not careful.”

  I knew that, unfair as it was, such scandals reflected as badly on the wretched husband as on the erring wife. He would be deemed incapable of controlling her, and it would be said that if he could let this happen in his private life, it was unlikely he would be able to control and keep the respect of the men under him.

  “It’s only a silly flirtation. They don’t mean anything by it, either of them. He’s just turned her head a bit, that’s all. And you have to admit, Thomas isn’t much fun.” He was, in fact, the most solemn and silent man I’d ever met, very well thought of in the regiment, and his bravery was apparently legendary. It was often said that his men would follow him anywhere. But he never showed the faintest glimmer of humour. I didn’t believe I’d seen him laugh, really laugh, once.

  “She knew that when she married him,” said Hugh, unforgiving. “That sort of thing simply isn’t done. She should behave herself.”

  “And what about Roger Marriott?”

  “Oh, he’s incorrigible! But married ladies should know better than to allow him to take liberties.”

  “I suppose it’s all Caroline’s fault.”

  “Of course not. But she’s older than him, and she shouldn’t encourage the young fool. It won’t do his promotion prospects any good, mark my words. Tom might not say much but Marriott’s already a marked man.”

  “That’s one way of revenge, I suppose. What would you do in similar circumstances?”

  “They’d never arise. You would never do such a thing.”

  He was a good man, my husband, I reminded myself, to be so utterly sure of me. But I suddenly wanted to shake him, to demand how he knew. Instead, I bit my lip and tried to make a joke of it. “Of course not. But then, I’ve never much liked Roger Marriott.”

  It took him a moment or two, but in the end his face broke into the diffident smile I had first fallen in love with.

  On this trip, we ladies mostly travelled in the ox-wagon, with horses for riding when we felt we had had enough of the rough jolting, though neither mode of transport was comfortable. As for Lyddie …at the moment she was looking radiant, full of well being, and rode ahead with Lyall, astride her horse like a man. He often rode close to her, with his hand on her bridle. Seeing her like that, with the sun on her face and the dry, dusty wind blowing through her hair, one would have thought she hadn’t a care in the world. She was magnificently attractive. I wondered, with a lurch of the heart, if she could possibly be starting yet another baby.

  The road was little more than a track in the thick red sand and the carts lurched all over the place; the poor oxen were plagued all the way by tsetse flies. It was extremely hot in those shadeless wastes; the cold at night, when the sun went down and we set up tents, was extreme, but it was a great relief. On the way, gazelles, antelopes and zebra from the herds of game roaming the plains were shot as meat for the porters; for our own evening dinner, tables were set up near the camp fire, where we ate the meal that had been prepared for us – hares, and desert partridges, which tasted not so different from chicken or turkey, though not as tender.

  There were moments of great drama, such as when we saw an awe-inspiring troop of elephants, silhouetted against the dying, fiery orange sky, processing majestically down to a watering hole at sunset. And more than once, we came across a pride of lions, like big cats snoozing in the sun, but this wasn’t a hunting party, and they were left alone. One time we surprised a leopard, a solitary beast of such grace and beauty he took one’s breath away. This time, one of our party took aim to shoot it, but its speed was such that he missed, at which I inwardly rejoiced. To kill it – or any animal – simply for its skin, or its tusks, seemed to me reprehensible; to kill it for sport was unforgivable. I said nothing, however. In view of Lyall’s occupation, I’d long become accustomed to keeping such views to myself.

  Ostriches, on the other hand, I found myself not able to love, given their appearance, which was unfair, but true – good looks give an unfair advantage to anyone, much less ostriches. “I see what you meant about Councillor Greenwood,” I remarked to Lyddie on our arrival at Orchard Farm.

  “Poor things. They can’t help it, any more than he can.”

  They were such manifestly foolish birds, forever in a fluster about something, picking up and swallowing anything that lay around – to help with their digestion, we were told. Like our canary at home needed grit, I supposed – only the bigger the bird, the bigger the stones. “This old beggar,” said Barty Fox, the younger of the brothers who ran the farm, pointing to one with a disagreeable expression and a mad, rolling eye, “he’ll eat anything – chunks of metal, glass, anything. He’ll chew through the fence to get out. The times we’ve had to chase him! Nothing’ll keep him in. If he doesn’t watch it, he’ll be for the pot.”

  I laughed but hoped this didn’t mean we were to have ostrich steaks for lunch, tender as I was assured they were.

  Barty and his older brother had come out from Britain to run the farm, two young men of immense enthusiasm and determination. Robert, the elder, was married with two young children, but Barty was still a bachelor. Staying with them was their father, on a visit from England. Augustus Fox was a doctor who had recently lost his wife and he had brought with him on this visit his daughter, Louisa, a lively child of about thirteen, with glossy chestnut curly hair and sharp, observant eyes.

  Dr Fox was an agreeable, imperturbable man who spent most of his days collecting insects and butterflies, drawing them and writing copious notes. He seemed quite unmoved by the talk of preparations for war, and refused to be panicked into cutting short his visit by making a hasty, and perhaps unnecessary, departure. His two sons were obviously worried that he could not, or would not, see the difficulties and danger of staying
put, but Dr Fox only shrugged. “In the unlikely event that things do come to a fight, we shall be safe enough where we are. What is there out here to fight over?”

  Barty laughed but Robert, who was of a more serious disposition, didn’t appear to share the amusement. He was already talking of packing his wife and children off to Cape Town to stay with her sister, where they would be safer should the worst happen.

  “A wise precaution,” agreed Lyall, with a meaningful glance at his own wife. Lyddie simply smiled. It was an argument with which both she and I were becoming increasingly familiar. More and more men were sending their families away to safety; Sarah Whitely had already left with her two children and was even now on her way back to England, but Lyddie flatly refused to listen to any such suggestion, as did I. If there was to be trouble, my place was at Hugh’s side, or as near to it as I could remain. Moreover, if war came, there would be useful work we could do, helping to nurse the sick and wounded.

  “We can’t shut our eyes to the inevitable. Give it another couple of months or so and we shall be at war, mark my words,” said Robert, a sentiment which most of us by now were very used to hearing. “The only reason the burghers are waiting at all is for the rains; they can’t go to war without grass for their horses.”

  “Possibly, but if I’ve understood the situation aright, that’s precisely why hostilities can’t last long,” Dr Fox went on. “Won’t they need to get back to their farms before the dry season comes?”